Work Text:
In Kageyama’s defense, he has almost no alcohol tolerance and his teammates had talked him into having three drinks at the post-match dinner.
Also in his defense: it’s Hinata’s fault.
Hinata, with his easy, confident smile, with his broad shoulders and their constellation of freckles, with his thick thighs swelling out of his shorts. It’s Hinata’s fault Kageyama can’t stop thinking about him. It’s Hinata’s fault that tonight, Kageyama narrowly avoided making a very inappropriate spectacle of himself on public transit.
The thing is, Hinata likes to text. Kageyama can usually take it or leave it, and he’s muted every group chat he’s ever been added to within twenty-four hours because the constant pings always make his eye twitch, but when Hinata moved to Brazil, things changed. Texting is the only way Kageyama can stay in regular contact with his best friend, someone he used to see every day.
So, Hinata texts him a lot. Kageyama always texts back.
So it’s Hinata’s fault that Kageyama can’t stop thinking about him. He sends Kageyama good morning and good night texts, he tells Kageyama stories about his roommate, his job, and about volleyball. Always volleyball. It never gets annoying, or overwhelming, or boring. In fact, it doesn’t do enough to soothe the ache of missing his best friend.
Hinata also sends pictures. So many pictures. Too many pictures.
It’s nearly all the time. The pictures are usually silly and cute, (like Hinata, his brain supplies unhelpfully), snapshots of his sunny days in Rio. But between the pictures of sunsets on the beach and funny road signs and new recipes Hinata is trying out, he sends pictures of himself.
The problem is: Kageyama likes the pictures a little too much.
It’s clear from Hinata’s guileless smiles that he’s not trying to set Kageyama aflame when he sends pictures of himself shirtless, his bare chest sunkissed and so broad (when did he get so broad?). He’s not trying to fuel Kageyama’s fantasies when he shares a candid shot that someone else took during one of his games, his thick thighs bulging out of his shorts as he squats low for a receive. He’s not trying to make Kageyama ache when the smile he sends isn’t wide and beaming but soft, tender, and for Kageyama’s eyes alone.
Hinata isn’t trying to do any of those things, and maybe that’s why they work too damn well.
Half an hour ago, when Kageyama’s phone had buzzed in his pocket, he opened it automatically, just to come face to face with his most devastating weakness. He’d shoved the phone aggressively back into his pocket after that quick glance, and tried to ignore the sense that it was burning through his clothes, demanding his attention.
An older woman sitting across from him had shot him a curious and concerned look, but he did his best to ignore her, too. All he really could do was focus on making sure he didn’t pop a boner right there on public transportation over an innocent selfie. Kageyama hardly remembers the rest of the trip to his apartment; when he fumbles his way inside, the hot buzz of alcohol and the briefest glimpse of Hinata’s face simmering in his veins, he only pauses long enough to strip off the clothes sticking to his sweaty skin before flopping into bed.
It feels easier to blame Hinata instead of his own weak mind when he pulls out his phone and opens their messages again. Now that Kageyama is alone, sprawled out in his boxers on top of his neatly tucked blankets, he can spend all the time he wants looking at the picture on his screen. And if he happens to get half-hard in the privacy and comfort of his bedroom for entirely unrelated reasons, that’s nobody’s business but his own.
The sight of Hinata’s icon in the top left corner, a picture of him mid-laugh that Kageyama had sneakily taken in their third year, makes the tightness in Kageyama’s chest loosen and fade. His hair was too long back then, falling almost into his eyes.
In the selfie Hinata sent tonight, it’s shorter. He’s on his bike, smiling wide and shimmering with sweat; his bright orange hair is sticking to his forehead, some tendrils caught in the wind and lifted into the air. Kageyama had given him a hard time about his long hair that year, insisting he should cut it, and to his surprise, Hinata had listened. It’s growing back out now, just long enough to curl at the ends. It looks touchable and soft, like it would feel like silk against Kageyama’s fingertips.
Kageyama groans, shoving his face into his pillow.
He knows exactly how Hinata’s hair felt against his hands. Soft and light, like liquid sun dripping between his fingers. He knows how it feels to shove his hand into that hair and hold it tight, but not the way he wishes he did now.
Still, Kageyama knows how it feels, and it haunts him. Just like he’s known, for years if he’s being honest with himself, that Hinata is cute. He’s heard enough girls sigh the word at him to see the truth of it. Hinata’s bright bubbly energy, and his sweet smile and his warm brown eyes—cute. Kageyama even would have called him handsome on occasion, like at Ukai-san and Sensei’s wedding the year before Hinata left for Brazil, dressed in a black suit that clung to every curve and angle of his lean frame.
He thought that at nineteen years old, Hinata was done growing. He was going to Brazil, and Kageyama guessed that he’d come home with a new tan, some beach volleyball skills he’d be eager to show off, and that’s it. He underestimated Hinata—and he thought he was done doing that by now.
Kageyama was not prepared for Hinata to go to Brazil and get hot.
It hit him one day, watching a video that Hinata’s teammate had posted of their winning rally. It hit him like a slap to the face, watching Hinata soar through the air, all thick muscles and easy confidence settled into his skin like a tan; the thought came and suddenly Kageyama couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The realization has been like a ghost haunting his days, flaring to life with every new picture he sees.
Kageyama isn’t interested in social media, though he has a few accounts. As a professional athlete, it was an expectation. So Kageyama set up an Instagram and a Twitter, and mostly he uses them for brand promotion, and keeping up with his handful of friends that have scattered around the world. Suga posts pictures of the goodies he bakes for his students, Tanaka’s feeds are full of Kiyoko and their young daughter, and honestly he doesn’t understand where Nishinoya ever is or what he’s doing, but from the looks of it, he’s having fun.
But lately, all Kageyama uses social media for is looking at Hinata, whenever and however he can.
It’s a problem. A big fucking problem.
Kageyama looks at the new picture again and thinks: he shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. He knows that, and yet, he saves the picture to a folder in his phone. When he opens it (ignoring the small letters under the folder’s name that read “302 photos, 26 videos”) and finds his vision full of only one thing: Hinata Shoyo.
Kageyama lets himself look for a few seconds, and maybe a few more, before he goes back to their messages.
Kageyama:
Dumbass!
Don’t take pictures while you’re riding!
You’re gonna crash
Hinata:
are you worried about me???
so sweet!! (⁀ᗢ⁀)
If Kageyama is worried about anything, it’s his own goddamn sanity.
Kageyama:
I’m not worried about you!
I’m worried about the citizens of Brazil with a menace like you on the streets
Hinata:
it’s ok i won’t tell anyone you were worried
it can be our little secret if you want (^_<)
besides i’m not even riding anymore
see!!!
[Image Attached]
There’s a new photo attached; it’s better, and it’s so much worse. The thin white shirt Hinata had been wearing on his bike is gone, his freckled shoulders and chest on explicit display. It’s a beach, Kageyama tells himself, it’s normal to be shirtless on the beach. If he could drag his eyes away from Hinata, he might even see other people in their swimsuits. The photo cuts off too high to see the ridges of Hinata’s abs, but just low enough to reveal the swell of his chest, his dusky nipples and the tiniest hint of orange hair along his sternum.
When the fuck did he grow chest hair?
Kageyama glances down at his own chest and finds it pale and bare. He looks back at Hinata and groans. He doesn’t know if he’s angry that Hinata beat him in this (it’s not really a competition, but isn’t everything?) or if he’s angry at how good he looks. Relaxed, easy, sinfully handsome without a clue about what it does to innocent bystanders. It’s irresponsible, really.
Kageyama:
oh mygod
why do you never wear a shirt
cover your chest
it’s indecent
Hinata:
yamaaaaa (◡︵◡)
what do you mean
whats wrong with it?
[Image Attached]
The next picture Hinata sends makes Kageyama’s breath catch in his throat and heat ripple over his skin. It’s a close-up of Hinata’s chest, one finger poked playfully into the soft flesh of one pec. His skin gives around the pressure of that finger, soft and plush, and the sight of it goes straight to Kageyama’s dick. His imagination runs wild imagining how Hinata’s chest would feel under his own hands. Soft skin over thick muscle, just pliant enough to bulge between Kageyama’s fingers if he squeezes a little too hard.
There’s gotta be, like, rules about this. It shouldn’t be allowed.
It’s even worse because Hinata seems so clueless about the effect he has. Kageyama’s been making excuses to not video chat for weeks because the last time they had, he had almost given himself away entirely. Hinata propped his phone up on his dresser to change out of his sweaty work clothes, and he hadn’t seemed to noice the way Kageyama trailed off mid-sentence, captivated by the ripple of his back muscles as he pulled a new shirt over his head. When he lifted his arms to half-heartedly smooth out his mussed hair, the curve of his tricep had caught the light just right and Kageyama just. Stared. At his best friend’s upper arm, and more embarrassingly, the hollow of his armpit and the soft-looking hair curling there.
(Kageyama had stomped around his apartment for an hour afterwards, occasionally pausing to yell “His armpit?! Really?! What the fuck is wrong with me?”)
He’s aching now, still staring at the picture of Hinata’s chest, and his playful finger poking at it. How does he not know what he’s doing to Kageyama every time? How does he not consider the implications of his bare chest filling Kageyama’s screen and driving him crazy? The same picture from anyone else would be… explicit. Purposeful. But it’s Hinata, his best friend, so of course he doesn’t realize.
He doesn't know what he’s doing. But Kageyama’s dick (which he has been resolutely ignoring with very little success) doesn’t understand that; it’s throbbing and desperate for touch, for anything. His hand hovers over it, trying to convince himself that it’s not a big deal, and it wouldn’t be a bad thing to just… relieve the pressure. He could just hold himself, squeeze a little and take the edge off, and that would be okay.
No, he can’t. It wouldn’t. Kageyama fists his hand in the blankets under him, trying to ignore where he’s leaking a damp spot into the fabric of his boxers. He wants to touch so badly. It’s wrong. He shouldn’t. But he really wants to.
Kageyama:
It’s obscene
Put it AWAY!
Hinata:
it’s the beach, grumpyama!
everyone else is shirtless here too, you know
(ˆ ڡ ˆ)
and I even remembered sunscreen today!!
Kageyama:
sunscreen isn’t the problem stupid
…
don’t forget to reapply in 2 hours
Sunscreen. Normally Kageyama has a little more control over his lusty thoughts, but with the slowly fading booze still clouding his mind, he has none whatsoever. He can’t stop thinking about it: Hinata’s hands all over himself, spreading sunscreen diligently until his skin is gleaming with it and he smells like summer and sunshine. Can he reach his own back, or did he have to ask for help?
Helplessly, Kageyama imagines his own hands there, mapping out the planes of Hinata’s body under the guise of protecting him from the sun. He could trace the shape of his spine from neck to tailbone, dig his thumbs into the tight muscles of Hinata’s shoulders until it feels good, until Hinata’s head is lolling and his body is lax under Kageyama’s touch.
Kageyama’s dick throbs in his hand; somehow his hand crept right back to where it isn’t supposed to be. He’s weak, helpless, and while the press of his palm down against his aching length isn’t enough, it feels like the smartest idea he’s ever had. He can’t even remember why he ever thought it was a bad idea, now that he’s rolling his hips up to meet the flat of his hand, dragging himself against it and sighing in relief.
Just enough to relieve the pressure, he tells himself. His eyes had fallen closed, imagining sunscreen and exploring fingers, and when he opens them again he sees Hinata’s chest again. Fuck. That’s why he shouldn’t be doing this, he remembers. He slows his movements to a halt, pressing down and holding there. He’s not jerking off to the thought of Hinata’s slick skin against his own. He’s not.
Of course not. He would never.
Hinata:
what’s the problem then??
do I look that bad??
(╯︵╰,)
Kageyama:
No dumbass you look too GOOD
You always look so good
it’s driving me fucking crazy
Hinata:
oh
should I stop…?
Stop? No, that would be worse. Kageyama doesn’t want him to stop, he just wants Hinata to know… know something. To know how good he looks, maybe, or how the sight of him makes Kageyama feel. No, Hinata doesn’t need to know that. Kageyama frowns at his phone. Arousal still thrums loud in his veins, but it’s slowly giving way to exhaustion and the aftermath of the drinks he’d had earlier, and all his thoughts are fuzzy.
Kageyama:
NO! DUMBASS!
I don't want you to stop
I like them
Hinata:
ok yamayama
I won’t stop
it’s past your bedtime though old man
sweet dreams ♡ (￣З￣)
Kageyama falls asleep facing his glowing phone screen, lit up by Hinata’s bright smile.
- ☼ -
The moment Kageyama wakes up, he remembers all at once why he rarely drinks alcohol. His head is pounding so hard he thinks it might crack open if he moves wrong. His mouth tastes terrible, and the sunlight filtering in through his window burns his eyes. He shuffles stiffly to the bathroom to splash his face with cool water until he feels almost human.
He grabs his toothbrush and goes through the motions with his eyes mostly closed. He sways in place as he starts scrubbing his teeth clean, letting his mind wander. It’s Sunday (he’s pretty sure), his scheduled rest day (thank god), and he only has a short list of things to get done. He’s not sure what time it is now, he hadn’t checked his phone when he got up.
Oh, fuck. His phone.
Kageyama’s eyes fly open and snap closed again. He hisses at the brightness, nearly choking on his mouthful of toothpaste as he spits into the sink, splashing water in the general direction of his open mouth and getting most of it all over his face and shirt.
His phone isn’t on his bedside table, where it usually is. Its absence only drives the panicked feeling higher. Kageyama yanks at the tangled mess of blankets and sheets on his bed, tossing pillows across the room in his haste to find it. One hard shake of his comforter reveals the phone. Kageyama practically collapses onto the bed and scrabbles for it, fingers shaking as he scrolls through the messages from last night.
“Oh my god.”
Kageyama’s breath comes too fast, too shallow. He feels the panic rise in his throat, choking him, as he reads the words he’d sent, actually sent to Hinata, who had read them.
theyre too hot
driving me fucking crazy
I like them
“Oh my god,” Kageyama repeats to his empty bedroom.
Shame and alcohol are leaking out of his pores, sharp and thick in the air. Maybe he could change his name, start a whole new life in another country. His English still isn’t great but maybe he could move to America. It’s a big place, it would be hard for anyone to find him there if he didn’t want to be found.
Just as he’s mentally calculating how far his savings might go in his new life, Kageyama’s phone buzzes in his grip. He clenches his fingers so hard that the phone just pops out of his hand. It flies shockingly far, slipping between the bed and the wall and falling slowly, hitting every obstacle possible on the way down like a chip dropped into a plinko board, before hitting the floor with a dull thud.
By the time he has the phone in hand again, Kageyama is panting, sweating, and his left shoulder aches from reaching too far at a weird angle. Taking a deep breath, he unlocks his phone.
Hinata:
good morning sleepyama
how are you feeling? (￢‿￢ )
Hungover. Mortified. Still contemplating burning this life to the ground and starting a whole new one.
Kageyama:
Fine.
How are you?
Hinata’s reply comes almost immediately.
Hinata:
so polite this morning!!!
you’re only this polite when you’re embarrassed
hahaha
are you blushing? please tell me you’re blushing
Kageyama’s cheeks are on fire, but there’s no way in hell he’s admitting that. He would rather die. He might die, but not from embarrassment. No, Hinata’s newfound confidence will be what takes him out in the end, he’s sure of it. Hinata has always been bold, overconfident even when he didn’t have the skills to back it up, but it’s different now.
It’s not the yelling and theatrics of fifteen year old Hinata, desperate to be noticed and respected in his own right. He doesn’t have a million things to prove; he has nothing at all to prove, and it’s that surety that takes Kageyama out at the knees.
Hinata’s sure of himself, but there are times, like last night, when Kageyama thinks Hinata might just be sure of him, too.
A few years ago Kageyama would say he was the one person in the world who knew Hinata best, and he could read Hinata’s thoughts and feelings without either of them saying a word. With a couple years and thousands of miles between them now, everything is just… confusing. There are times when Kageyama thinks maybe he’s not the only one experiencing new and confusing feelings. There are times when he thinks Hinata might be flirting, but he can’t tell and he’s not going to ask.
What he does instead is suffer.
Kageyama:
I am NOT blushing
Shut up
Hinata:
fine, keep your secrets
(^_<)
Kageyama groans, flopping down on his back. The clock on his bedside says it’s after ten—his phone probably says the same thing but he’s not looking at it right now, thank you very much—which means Hinata must be in bed, or getting ready for it. It’s moments like these when the time difference between them feels like a blessing and a curse. He needs to get up and actually do something with his day off that isn’t laying in bed and suffering, but all he can think about now is Hinata in his bed, on the other side of the world. He runs warm, so warm, Kageyama knows this firsthand. He wonders if Hinata took off his shirt again, if his sun-warmed skin is bare against his soft sheets, if—
No. He can’t keep doing this.
Kageyama:
Don’t you have to go to bed soon?
Maybe you should do that.
Hinata:
i see how it is!!!
you don’t have to be that way blushyama it’s ok
I’m not judging u
i am in bed tho
wanna see? (￢‿￢ )
Kageyama rolls over to scream into his pillow.
Kageyama:
I’M NOT BLUSHING SHUT UP
can’t see anything with the lights off anyway stupid
not that I want to see
WHATEVER
Kageyama is full of shit: he is blushing, he wants to see Hinata as often as possible, and even if the lights were turned down low, and a dimly lit photo wouldn’t stop him. By now, he’s well-practiced in adjusting the brightness and contrast to see every detail in Hinata’s most poorly lit pictures.
Shit, he definitely isn’t going to say anything about that.
He wonders if Hinata knows. Sometimes Kageyama hopes he knows so he never has to say it himself. What the hell would he say anyway? I’m sorry, Hinata, but you got so hot all of a sudden that every time I see you I get a boner and can’t stop thinking about you naked. Sure. That would be very smooth and charming and would definitely work out for him.
In the light of morning, without a single drop of the liquid courage (read: liquid stupidity) that coursed through his veins yesterday, Kageyama has no words at all. Just a raw, desperate need that he can’t ignore anymore.
Hinata:
that’s not what you said last night yamayama
just in case
[Image Attached]
This is it.
The smile that has been slowly unraveling Kageyama thread by thread for the past few months. Hinata’s eyes are soft and sleepy in the dim light, his mouth curled fondly, his body adrift in a crumpled mess of blankets. It’s the same smile he’s always given Kageyama in the quiet moments, moments of friendship and camaraderie, just in a slightly different frame.
Kageyama wonders, not for the first time, if anyone else gets to see this smile. He hopes, not for the first time, that they don’t. The screen is cool under his fingertips as he traces Hinata’s smile. His chest aches.
Kageyama:
Go to sleep, dummy.
Hinata:
hey kageyama?
Kageyama:
what?
Hinata:
i think you’re pretty hot too
just so you know
Kageyama wants to scream. But what bubbles out of his throat is an embarrassing, giddy laugh. He feels weak with relief, but on top of that there’s a buzzing excitement coming alive somewhere under his ribcage. He clutches his phone to his chest and counts to ten, taking slow, even breaths.
Hinata thinks he’s hot. He didn’t ruin everything in a moment of tipsy weakness.
It’s okay. It’s fine. It’s a totally normal thing that happens when someone grows up and realizes their friend is actually devastatingly attractive. It’s just hormones, he’s pretty sure.
Kageyama:
Goodnight, Hinata
Sweet dreams.
Hinata:
♡( ◡‿◡ )
- ☼ -
Their conversations continue as usual, and Hinata still sends a barrage of pictures. A lot of it is the usual silly stuff, pictures of signs he finds funny, candid pictures of his teammate and his teammate’s girlfriend (Ex-girlfriend? Fiance? Kageyama can’t keep up with whatever is going on there), pretty sunsets and weird things that wash up on shore.
Now though, they’re bracketed with pictures with more than a hint of spice. Hinata frames them with humor sometimes (“yamayama, do these shorts make my butt look big?”) but every time Kageyama responds (“you know you have a great ass, shut up”), the tension builds.
Sometimes they aren’t funny at all.
Because the problem is that Hinata isn’t subtle. He never seemed to know how to be subtle, not from the moment he tried to stare Kageyama down through a middle school volleyball net after having his ass handed to him. Most people would have slunk away in shame, or cried, but not Hinata.
Still, if he was less subtle before, he’s a downright menace now. And the worst part is that it works every time. He sends pictures of his stupidly attractive face layered between double entendres, and Kageyama is pretty sure his social media posts have gotten more revealing, too. It’s all swells of muscle and bronzed skin under the summer sun and it’s borderline inappropriate.
Kageyama knows his teammates have noticed his Hinata-induced distraction, though they’re (mostly) too polite to say anything. One night after practice, Kageyama’s sitting on the locker room bench thumbing through Hinata’s Instagram story when he gets a healthy look at Hinata’s flexed thighs in his too-short shorts as he squats before a jump, and he feels flames licking at his cheeks.
“Kageyama-san, are you alright? Do you have a fever?” Ushijima frowns down at him with worry.
Kageyama shakes his head, willing the heat in his skin away. “No, I’m—I’m fine.”
“Let me guess,” Hirugami calls from across the room with a smirk, “Are you on Instagram right now?”
“I—yes, but that’s not—” Kageyama splutters.
Ushijima’s frown lines melt away. “Ah,” he says.
Apparently it’s worse than he realized.
Kageyama walks home from practice that night instead of taking the bus, hoping the cool night air might soothe his too-hot skin. He’s lost in thought the entire time - he’s walked the path between the gym and his apartment enough times to know it without having to think too hard about it. Instead, he can’t stop thinking about Hirugami’s knowing expression, and the realization that had dawned on Ushijima’s face.
Was he really that obvious?
The thing is, the professional volleyball world is pretty small, even on a global scale. Everyone seems to know almost everyone else, or at least know of them. Kageyama knows most of his teammates follow Hinata, and he’s heard them talking more than once about when he might return, and if he’ll join a V.League team.
Kageyama avoids those conversations. He thinks about Hinata coming back to Japan all the time, but if he dwells on it too long it makes his ribs ache and his eyes burn.
He misses Hinata.
He misses his best friend, and he misses playing volleyball with him. Kageyama understands, of course he does, why Hinata needed to go. It’s clear that his time in Brazil has made Hinata better; it’s clear that Hinata has made the world around him better, too. He has a way of doing that no matter where he goes. His energy is so infectious it pulls everyone around him forwards, pushing them to work harder, dream bigger, and to throw themselves into those dreams with their whole selves.
Kageyama’s gotten better, too. He works hard, trains hard, and he has a team of highly skilled players around him who trust his skills, which is all he’s ever wanted. Or, he thought it’s all he wanted.
Kageyama loves his life, but the Hinata-shaped hole in it never seems to heal.
Kageyama pulls up Hinata’s profile again as he walks, trying to view him like a stranger might. He notices for the first time that Hinata has a lot of followers. He opens Hinata’s story again and watches the reactions float over the screen. Online, Hinata is liked and admired. He recognizes a few usernames, ones belonging to their mutual friends and old teammates, but the rest are a faceless mass of fans.
Do they feel how Kageyama feels when they see him on their screens, effortlessly gorgeous and full of joy? Does the sight of Hinata throwing his head back to laugh make them yearn to hear the sound that accompanies it? Do they feel this weird and not-entirely-unpleasant fluttering in their stomachs when he smiles at the camera just right so it looks like he’s smiling right at them?
Something hot and unexpectedly covetous flares to life in Kageyama’s mind, but it’s soothed by the knowledge that he gets more. Hinata’s fans and followers don’t get the raw, unfiltered view into his life that Kageyama gets. They don’t get his stupid puns, or the endless stream of annoying nicknames, or the quiet admission of homesickness.
His followers get ninjashouyou, not Hinata. Not really.
But Kageyama gets Hinata, all the facets of him that a cell phone camera and social media website never will. Kageyama wishes he was surprised by how good that feels, knowing there are parts of Hinata that are his alone. It doesn’t surprise him one bit, but it is mildly terrifying.
He pushes that thought away, putting his phone face down on the counter and ignoring it for the rest of the night.
- ☼ -
Hinata:
KAGEYAMA!!!!
guess what finally arrived!!!
Kageyama:
Your missing brain cells?
Hinata:
yamaaaaa. so mean (╥﹏╥)
i have all my braincells you jerk!!
ANYWAY
it’s my bouncing ball merch!!!
Kageyama:
Kozume-san sent you merch?
While he waits for Hinata’s response, (and tries desperately not to think about Hinata taking his clothes off for any reason at all, including to try something new on), Kageyama starts getting dinner ready.
Last week Hinata sent him a recipe for brazilian rice, so he pulls out a clove of garlic and an onion and starts chopping. These days, he’s started to enjoy cooking, the meditative precision of slicing vegetables into uniform shapes, the sizzle of oil in a pan, even the systematic process of cleaning up. Cooking healthy meals is another way of taking care of himself, of personal maintenance. It’s in these quiet moments that he feels something of his grandfather’s presence, a guiding hand and warm, glowing pride, gently pushing him onwards towards the best version of himself.
(Kageyama still isn’t sure about the recipe, but Hinata had insisted it was delicious. As usual, they’d argued for a while before deciding that Kageyama would need to try it so they would know who’s right. It’s how 80% of their arguments end, until it’s time to argue about who actually won. Then it’s pure chaos.)
With the rice and vegetables simmering, Kageyama scrubs his hands clean. He’s drying them when he hears his phone buzz on the counter.
Hinata:
wanna see?
It’s been weeks since Kageyama’s tipsy admission that he not only thinks Hinata is hot, but is being actively driven mad with each new picture Hinata sends, and they still haven’t talked about it. Kageyama isn’t sure he’d know what to say even if they did, but Hinata keeps sending the pictures and Kageyama keeps downloading them and scrolling through them until his eyeballs hurt.
All the things they haven’t said are almost as insanity-inducing as the pictures—or worse, the occasional video. Those in particular are the bane of Kageyama’s existence, and one of his favorite things in the world. Hinata’s voice is rough and warm like beach sand under the sun, and deeper than it had been before he left, somehow.
A few days ago, he sent a video of himself telling a story about his roommate that he insisted wouldn’t be the same over text. Kageyama had a hard time following the story between Hinata’s wheezing, breathless laughter, but he wasn’t trying that hard. He was captivated by the sight of Hinata in motion, the sound of his voice echoing through Kageyama’s empty living room.
Wanna see?
Oh, Kageyama wants. The more important question seems to be: what is he allowed to ask for?
He still isn’t entirely sure what kind of company Bouncing Ball is, and none of his conversations with Hinata have helped him understand. They’ve made him more confused, actually, and after the last time they talked about it Kageyama’s pretty sure Hinata has no idea either. It hardly seems to matter though—Kenma had tried to give Hinata money outright to fund his life in Brazil, but Hinata had refused. He was too determined to make it on his own, and accepting that much money from a friend in order to pursue his dreams would have made it feel like an unearned victory. It wasn’t quite logical, but Kageyama gets it. He probably would have done the same thing.
Kenma is a rational, if somewhat strange person—he started a company two months later and pitched the idea of his company ‘sponsoring’ Hinata while he played in Brazil, and for some reason, Hinata had agreed to that. So Kenma sends him a monthly stipend and Hinata does his part promoting Bouncing Ball as a sponsored athlete, and that’s that.
Kageyama suspects that Kenma only created the company to get around Hinata’s stubborn pride, and he can admire the creativity. And he would die before admitting it out loud, but he’s glad Kenma is helping. With the stipend, Hinata can afford to only work part-time while he trains.
Kageyama reminds himself again: Kenma is a rational, if somewhat strange person—he wouldn’t send Hinata something obscene to promote his company, would he? He thinks of Kenma, perpetually in shapeless sweats and jackets that swallow him whole. No, it can’t be that bad.
But unless Kenma sent him a giant burlap sack, Kageyama is absolutely positive it will look unfairly and frustratingly good. Kageyama closes his eyes and prays for a whole international package of too-big sweatsuits and maybe a pair of shoes. He can handle shoes. Probably.
Kageyama:
Is that how Kozume-san told you to promote the company? By texting me pictures?
Hinata:
what if he did huh??
(ˆ ڡ ˆ)
[Image Attached]
Kageyama opens the picture and… okay. It’s survivable. Hinata looks stupidly hot, but that was inevitable. He’s wearing a simple black t-shirt with the Bouncing Ball logo printed in white across the chest, and a matching pair of shorts. They’re definitely Kozume’s style, simple and clean, and they fit Hinata sinfully well. The fabric clings to every angle and curve of his body. It takes a few seconds for Kageyama to notice he’s also wearing a black baseball hat with the same logo.
Kageyama:
Nice.
Kageyama fluffs his rice, scooping a healthy serving into a bowl and putting the rest into tupperware in the fridge. It smells amazing. Maybe it’s a good thing that they had never agreed to any terms, because Kageyama’s chances of winning this challenge are dead in the water with his first bite.
Hinata:
that’s it?? nice?!?
i’m telling Kenma
Kageyama:
What the hell is Kozume-san going to do about it?! He’s your boss or whatever, not mine
It’s a t-shirt and shorts. They look fine
Kageyama takes another bite of the still too-hot rice, having convinced himself that the gnawing hunger he feels building in his gut is for food, and not for something else entirely.
Shit. It is really good. Hinata isn’t going to shut up about it when he finds out, so maybe he doesn’t have to find out at all.
Hinata:
dang it, i think he was hoping for more than ‘fine’
there’s more though
one sec
[Image Attached]
Kageyama chokes on his next bite of rice. By now he knows better than to open texts from Hinata with his mouth full of anything, no matter how good the food might be (or he should know better, but unfortunately for Kageyama, he has a tendency to be more than a little stupid wherever Hinata is concerned). Coughing and swiping at his watery eyes, Kageyama takes a second look.
He’s still wearing the shorts, a thin line of pale skin exposed just below the hem and below his deep tan, but now he’s paired it with a loose tank top, this time with white print on sapphire blue cotton. The arm holes are cut low and wide, leaving not only his muscular biceps exposed, but the curved edge of his pecs. If he turned to the side, Kageyama is absolutely sure—in a way that makes his mouth dry and his skin prickly—that he’d have an unobscured view of the swell of Hinata’s chest, the dark shape of his nipples.
What the fuck.
Kageyama:
Nice.
That looks comfortable.
Hinata:
it is!! he sent a few of these but i think i like this one best
I like the color 💙
Kageyama isn’t sure why, but the simple admission makes his cheeks even hotter than the thought of Hinata’s nipple peeking out of his tank top. He’s not going to say that he finds himself picking out orange decorations and soft brown blankets that make him think of—well, it doesn’t matter.
Kageyama:
Yeah.
Does Kozume-san send you stuff a lot?
Hinata:
nah this is only the second time i think
i guess kuroo-san told him that he has to do stuff like that if he sponsors someone
maybe he’s the expert becuz he works at JVA?
Kageyama:
I guess? I honestly have no idea what Kuroo-san does.
Hinata:
haha does anyone?
I asked kenma once and he said
‘annoys people into watching volleyball’
Kageyama:
Haha
Does that work?
Hinata:
how would i know!!!!!
dummy
now i’m not sending you the rest
Kageyama frowns at his phone. Is that supposed to be a punishment? If he’s being honest with himself, it might be, but the way Hinata says it makes his pulse throb in his ears. He says it like he knows exactly what Kageyama wants, and he’s only going to give it to him if he earns it.
It feels like foreplay. It’s not—it can’t be, can it?—but goddamn, it feels like it. It feels like the teasing sensation of light touches that are not enough, never enough; it feels like the anticipation that builds and builds until it snaps.
It feels like competition, like adrenaline and head-on collisions and everything dangerous and exciting Kageyama has ever done. He wants to win. He’s not sure how, or what that would mean, but he wants it anyway.
Kageyama:
That’s fine
I’m eating dinner anyway.
Hinata:
fine (◔_◔)
what are you eating???
Fuck. Kageyama closes his texts with Hinata and opens a note titled “Ultimate Competition” changing the number after Hinata’s name from 1982 to 1983. Kageyama’s six point lead is down to five. He sighs heavily.
Kageyama:
Rice.
Hinata:
omg
what kiiiiind of rice (￢‿￢ )
Kageyama:
Cooked rice.
Hinata:
OF COURSE ITS COOKED BAKAGEYAMA
it’s good isn’t it???
so that’s 1983 for me now right
becuz i won
Kageyama:
Shut up
Who says you won?
It’s pretty good. I added a soft boiled egg
That’s probably what made it good anyway
Hinata:
omggg send me some (つ✧ω✧)つ
That is not cute. Not at all. It’s dumb, in fact. So, so dumb.
Kageyama:
You want me to send you Brazilian rice
From Japan
WHEN YOU LIVE IN BRAZIL
Hinata:
what if that’s my prize for winning the bet huh???
wait no i don’t want that don’t do it
i was kidding
kageyama do NOT
Kageyama:
I’m not going to mail you food, dumbass
We haven’t agreed that you won anyway
They both know Hinata won, and they’ve been doing this for far too long to pretend otherwise, but Kageyama is a simple man—he likes arguing. With Hinata specifically.
It hardly feels like arguing anymore really. It feels like a years-long volley that they’ve kept up despite the distance, neither one willing to let it drop and let the game end.
Until it falls, whatever it is that they’re hitting back and forth, the game isn’t over. Kageyama has always wanted to play forever—he’s not going to be the one to surrender. The only problem is—is it really a problem?—that Hinata is the only one in the world who wants the same thing just as badly.
Hinata:
well, what would you want, if you’d won
which you didn’t!!!
by the way
Kageyama wants so much.
He’s no stranger to desire; he knows how it feels to want something so badly it hurts, to build his entire life in pursuit of it. It was always volleyball. Kageyama had been driving forwards towards one singular goal for as long as he could remember: to find a way to play forever, to touch the ball, to find somebody even better who would help him get there.
Now he knows how it feels to want like that in a whole new way, and if he’s honest with himself it doesn’t really feel new at all. Not when what he wants now is to touch and claim and devour, and what he wanted for so long was a partner who could push him to new heights, and he thinks he might be able to find both in the same compact package.
A very orange, very annoying package.
Kageyama:
If I didn’t win then why would you need to know
If you won
I’m NOT saying you did but
What would you want?
Hinata:
Dummy i did win!!!
sore loser
maybe i just want to show you the rest of my new stuff
and for you to be NICE to me about it
tell me i look handsome or awesome or whatever
Kageyama:
You want to show me your new clothes
So I can compliment you???
Lame but fine. Whatever
At this moment, Kageyama can’t think of a single thing he wants more than to see more of Hinata. Maybe this is what he would have asked for if he did win.
But he didn’t, so the request stays in his mind, where it belongs.
Hinata:
so you admit i won
This feels… dangerous. Like saying too much could be as easy as a slip of his thumb on the screen.
Kageyama:
You won okay?
So. Show me.
Kageyama slams his phone face down on the table (a little too hard and a little too loud, but nobody has to know that). He finishes eating quickly, cleaning up his dinner mess before picking the phone back up and shoving it in his pocket without looking at the screen. It takes him a record short time to wash his face and brush his teeth, and a couple minutes later he’s lying down in bed, opening his phone to see what Hinata sent back.
It’s the same outfit, but Hinata has rucked the tank top up to his belly button and tugged the shorts down just far enough to reveal black underwear, the words BOUNCING BALL, INC printed boldly along the waistband. With nobody to witness his shameless thirst, Kageyama zooms in, taking in the details. The jut of Hinata’s hipbone, the pale hair curling against his skin, his thumb hooked into the waistband of his shorts.
Hinata is going to kill him. Kageyama’s glad he’s lying down because if he wasn’t, he might have gotten dizzy with how fast all the blood in his body seems to rush south. It’s just a little more skin, a new strip of elastic, but it sets Kageyama on fire.
Kageyama:
He sent you boxers?
They look good
Hinata:
come onnnn yamayama
like you mean it (￣ヘ￣)
Kageyama hesitates, chewing on his cheek. He does mean it, and that’s the problem. Hinata is handsome, and he has been for a long time, and Kageyama wants to say a lot more than that. He could tell Hinata that he’s not just handsome, he’s hot as hell, but the same old fear holds him back.
You know what? No. Hinata asked for this—clearly, explicitly.
He commands all of Kageyama’s attention with no effort at all and has for months (years, if he’s honest with himself, but he doesn’t feel like doing that anytime soon or possibly ever), but now he’s really commanding it. On purpose. Tell me I look handsome, he said. The words are like Hinata’s hands pushing him forward, and Kageyama can push back.
They’ve always been like this, pushing and pushing each other into the next challenge, the next level, the next stage. Why would this be any different?
Kageyama:
Fine
You look great
Tell Kozume-san to send more tank tops
Hinata:
why?
Kageyama:
Because you have nice arms, dumbass
You have nice… everything
Better?
Hinata:
how do you know? (ˆ ڡ ˆ)
Kageyama:
What do you mean
Because I have eyes dammit
Hinata:
no i just meant
because
you can’t see everything
[Video Attached]
Kageyama grips his phone so hard it creaks in protest.
Hinata’s tank top and shorts are in a messy heap on the floor behind him, leaving Hinata standing in front of his full-length mirror in only his new underwear. They’re tight, black boxer briefs that cling to his body, revealing the curve of his hips and his muscular thighs. He turns slowly, showing his profile, then his back. Kageyama’s eyes are helplessly drawn to the shape of the black fabric, the pronounced bulge in the front, the round swell of his ass.
Hinata’s ass. Kageyama’s fingers flex again; he can almost feel it, the plush softness under even softer cotton, the weight and give of it under his greedy hands. Maybe it’s wrong, the way he aches in his own boxers, hard and dripping and lost in daydreams about his best friend’s body under his hands, but he can’t help it. Hinata knows—he must know. He grinds the heel of his hand against his throbbing dick, trying to relieve the pressure, but it only makes him want more.
Kageyama replays the video over and over, going so far as to grab his headphones and shove them unceremoniously in his ears, turning the volume up to the max just to hear Hinata’s soft breaths, and the absent little humming sounds he makes as he turns. He’s a goddamn dream, all bronzed skin and thick muscles, with the edge of a crooked smile at the top of the frame.
Hinata:
yama?
Kageyama:
Sorry, I’m here.
I was right. You have a nice everything
Hinata:
(>\\\\\\<)
technicallyyyy
you still haven’t seen everything everything
if ya know what i mean
Maybe Hinata won’t kill him—maybe he’s already dead.
Maybe the force of his lust not only killed him but kept him tethered to his earthly vessel just so he can cave to his desires and beg pathetically to see more of his best friend’s bare skin.
In moments like this, the line they’re inching towards feels less like the blurry boundary between friendship and something more complicated, and more like a finish line, with a prize to be won in the space beyond. It’s unclear which of them will be the one to finally get a foot over the line, but the other is sure to follow close behind.
Despite its inevitability, the possibility is overwhelming. Would Hinata really send him—
“Oh, my god,” Kagyeama whispers, squeezing himself a little too hard. “Please-”
Kageyama:
Maybe I don't know what you mean
Are you going to show me everything?
Do you want to?
Hinata:
not right now!!
what do you think I am, Kageyama Tobio, some kind of slut who sends boys pictures of his goodies???
He chokes on a wild laugh, coughing to clear the sting from his throat and the threat of tears from his eyes. Hinata is so… stupid. And silly.
And so infuriatingly, unbelievably cute.
Kageyama:
Your goodies? What are you 12?
Hinata:
[Image Attached]
do i look 12?
This one is of the front of Hinata’s body, his thumb hooked into the waistband of his underwear this time, tugging it down to reveal the trail of fiery hair disappearing into where the fabric is bunched around his hand. His fingers are curled around the bulge that Kageyama knows will haunt his wet dreams for weeks. It’s easy to imagine that Hinata is touching himself like that. Like he’s hard beneath his fingers, like he’s hungry for this, too.
Kageyama swallows. Hard. What are they doing right now?
Kageyama:
No. You don’t.
Hinata:
then how do i look?
tell me and i’ll send more
Kageyama:
What makes you think I want to see more?
Hinata:
I seem to remember this conversation a few weeks ago…
Kageyama:
DON’T
Hinata:
iirc you think i’m hot
i’m driving you crazy
so yeah. i think you wanna see more
am i wrong?
He’s so demanding.
Kageyama shivers—he likes that more than he wants to admit. He can still hear Hinata’s voice in his mind, demanding tell me. It’s hard to find the right words to convey the way he wants, the thoughts and feelings that spark to life inside him from each new picture.
For once, Kageyama wants to give him exactly what he wants. It feels like a surrender, but not a defeat.
Kageyama:
No
I want to see more.
Hinata:
hmmm maybeee
if you’re good
Kageyama whines. Hinata’s easy confidence makes his head spin. It makes him wish they weren’t on opposite sides of the world, but just a few feet away, close enough to touch. Would Hinata be just as bold, crowding into Kageyama’s space, demanding Kageyama to admit that he wants more?
That he wants him?
Fuck. Kageyama can picture it so clearly, Hinata telling him to be good, the warm rasp of his voice. In any other situation he’d be snapping at Hinata if he had the audacity to talk to him like that. He would squeeze his stupid little cheeks and toss him around for good measure, too.
But now? Kageyama really wants to be good.
Kageyama:
How do I do that?
Hinata:
answer a question for me
but you have to be honest
That same sense of danger sparks back to life in Kageyama’s veins, and he feels himself being pulled towards it, not pushed away. He wouldn’t know how to back down now if he wanted to.
Kageyama:
Okay.
Hinata:
are you um
enjoying yourself?
Oh.
Does he mean—
Kageyama isn’t sure if he wants to answer that. He absolutely is enjoying himself, both generally and in the sense that he’s on the cusp of jerking off looking at half-naked pictures of his best friend. He’s still frozen, wondering if it’s okay for him to just admit to it, when the next message comes in.
Hinata:
Because
if you were
that would be okay
more than okay
Kageyama:
So you’re saying it would be okay if I was *enjoying myself*
(Seriously. Are you 12??)
To your pictures?
Hinata:
yeah
i think it would be kinda hot honestly
Kageyama:
…
Maybe I am
Hinata:
wow ok so
not kinda hot
thats SO hot
Kageyama touches himself with purpose now, sighing and dizzy with the unexpected thrill of permission. Hinata knows Kageyama is doing this, and he likes it. He thinks it’s hot. That thought alone is enough to overwhelm him. There’s still something scary about Hinata knowing, but it’s easier behind a screen, where he can look his fill and not be watched in return.
Has Hinata ever done this? Has he fucked his hand looking at pictures of Kageyama, or thinking about him?
He thinks about Hinata sprawled out in his messy bed, teasing himself until he’s right on the edge, Kageyama’s name on his lips when he falls headfirst over it and makes a sticky mess of his own skin. Kageyama yanks his hand away from his dick like he’s been burned; one more stroke and he would have been done for.
Tonight Kageyama hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol but he feels drunk on the image of Hinata. He feels drunk on the idea that even though Hinata’s a world away, he is also aching, also wanting.
Wanting him.
Kageyama:
You really think it’s hot?
Hinata:
oh my god
yes
you’re hot
and i like that you think i’m hot
wow i said the word hot a lot haha
The urge to deny any such thing rises up like a tidal wave in him, a shiver through the muscles of his fingers where they slide over his skin. It would be pointless, though, and Kageyama knows it. He’s already said too much, and there’s no going back now. He impulsively, tipsily, confessed the secret he’s been swallowing down for months, right to Hinata after one look at his stupid chest.
That was it. The line. He had sailed right past it without even noticing, just trying to stay neck and neck with Hinata like always.
And now here they are: on the other side of the line, in territory Kageyama has no idea how to navigate.
Kageyama:
You are hot.
You can tell Kozume-san the merch looks good
Hinata:
now you’re thinking about KENMA while you enjoy yourself???
gross kageyama !!
Kageyama:
Well NOW I am stupid!
Hinata:
Hahaha
I’ll tell him you…. enjoyed it
(ˆ ڡ ˆ)
Kageyama:
Do NOT
The merch is fine, but it only looks so fucking good because it’s on you.
Dumbass!!!
Hinata:
awww you’re so sweet when you’re mad
(￣З￣)
Kageyama is struck with the realization that Hinata will be insufferable now that he knows just how hot he is. For a moment he regrets his alcohol-loose tongue; his dick, on the other hand, has no regrets whatsoever.
Kageyama:
SHUT UP
Hinata:
no thanks
hahaha youre too fun to mess with
which one did you like most?
That little shit.
Kageyama:
The last one
Just the boxers
Hinata:
so you’re saying
the merch looks good on me
but it looks better on my bedroom floor?
Kageyama barks a laugh. It takes the edge off somehow.
Kageyama:
I would never use a line like that.
Too corny.
Hinata:
suuuuure Cornyama
…
Hornyama (￢‿￢ )
Kageyama:
I’m blocking you.
Bye
Hinata:
no!!!!
don’t go
Despite himself, Kageyama laughs again. He’s not going anywhere now, no matter how stupid Hinata is being at any given moment. It’s fun to tease back, though.
Hinata:
[Image Attached]
The silly-horny whiplash is too much. Hinata’s not joking anymore—he’s stretched out luxuriously in his bed, and still wearing only those stupid, wonderful boxer briefs. From this angle Kageyama gets a good look at the gentle waves of his abs, the dip of his hips, and the frankly impressive bulge of his dick caged within the fabric.
Oh god—Hinata is hard.
It wouldn’t be obvious if Kageyama wasn’t studying that part of his anatomy with a fervor he has never once applied to actual studying, but he is. Kageyama has shared enough locker rooms with Hinata to know exactly how he fills out a pair of underwear when he’s soft, and it’s not like that.
Shit. Had he been paying attention even then?
Before Kageyama can dig too deep into that thought and the very gay crisis that will inevitably come with it, he types out a response.
Kageyama:
I’m listening
Or watching
Whatever
Hinata:
keep watching
[Video Attached]
The video is short, just a few seconds, but it’s enough to make Kageyama whimper. He watches Hinata’s hands slide over his chest, squeezing, fingertips trailing down, down, down until they’re out of frame. He watches Hinata’s open mouth as he touches himself, the way it moves as he sucks in unsteady breaths, the wet sheen of his lips and the pink hint of tongue between his teeth.
Kageyama watches the video over and over. He cranks the volume back up and closes his eyes after he’s looked his fill, listening to Hinata’s near-silent breathing and the rasp of his skin against blankets.
Like this, he can imagine that the hand pumping his length is Hinata’s, his eyes pinning Kageyama in place while he takes him apart with his fingers and a whispered command to watch him do it.
Eyes on me.
It all feels a little surreal; Hinata’s messages, the shameless way he’s showing off for Kageyama now, pretenses all but dropped. Is this really happening? Kageyama is so hard, so tense, and at the same time he feels like he might just melt into his mattress.
Kageyama:
I’m watching
Does that feel good?
Hinata:
mmhm
maybe i’m also
enjoying myself
Kageyama swallows. Something about Hinata has always made him feel like his stomach is in his throat, like he’s at the highest point of a roller coaster waiting for the drop; right now it feels like more. He can’t catch his breath.
Kageyama has never been able to resist a challenge from Hinata, and he’s not about to start now.
Kageyama:
Prove it
Kageyama isn’t going to last. His dick is dripping so much it’s leaking through the fabric in pearly drops, throbbing in his hand. He shimmies his boxers down—finally—but he doesn’t touch himself again, not yet. He can feel his orgasm building even without touch, gathering at the edge of his senses like a threat.
Hinata:
[Video Attached]
Hinata’s tanned hand exploring his body fills Kageyama’s screen while the little pleasured sounds he makes, breathy sighs and bitten-off moans, fill Kageyama’s ears. He’s never heard anything hotter. Kageyama curls his fingers around his dick, hips jerking involuntarily into the touch, but he doesn’t do much more than that. He can’t, or this will be over before it really starts.
Kageyama’s had crushes before. He’s looked at guys and wondered how they’d kiss, how they’d feel. He’s had a few flings, a couple very short-lived relationships. The need for sex has never consumed him the way it seems to with guys his age, but he’s still human.
He’s still very, very gay.
Kageyama’s twenty-one years old and he knows desire has never felt quite like this. It’s never driven every other thought from his mind in totality, until all he can think about is how badly he wants one person.
This person. Hinata Shoyo.
His bold words, his voice, his stupid squishable cheeks and plush lips. His hands all over himself, and the thought of Kageyama’s hands there instead. His palms ache with the need to touch a warm body on the other side of the world.
He replays the video again and again, drinking in the sound of Hinata’s muffled little noises. He’s so quiet. Kageyama’s need takes on a new edge, a desperation to hear Hinata when he isn’t being quiet. When he can’t be quiet even if he tries. Kageyama fucks his fist down over himself faster, the slide of skin slick and loud enough that he can hear it with his headphones in.
Hinata:
is this enough proof?
[Video Attached]
Hinata’s thighs fill Kageyama’s phone screen, and if he moans outright at the sight before he even presses play, that’s nobody’s business. Hinata’s fingers pull at black fabric, tugging them up and up to reveal his tan line and the pale skin below, before trailing lightly up over his dick. This close, Kageyama can see the light, sparse hair along Hinata’s legs in excruciating detail. He wants to know how it feels against his hips when Hinata wraps his thighs around him and squeezes tight. He wants to know how it feels against his head while he buries his face between Hinata’s legs and makes him come on his tongue. Kageyama slides a hand up his own thigh, imagining a slow, indulgent exploration of Hinata’s sunkissed skin.
He slows his strokes, biting hard enough on his lip to hurt. His eyes burn a little from the brightness of his phone screen in the dark room, but he doesn’t look away. He can’t. The pleasure coursing through his whole body is pulling him under, relentless and undeniable.
Kageyama:
No
Not enough
Hinata:
[Video Attached]
This time Hinata’s fingers move over himself with purpose. He curls his fingers around the shape of his dick against the fabric and strokes himself, circling the tip with his thumb, before sliding lower. He lightly squeezes a soft bulge that can only be his balls, and the wordless noise he makes at the pressure is the hottest thing Kageyama’s ever heard.
Until approximately three seconds later, when Hinata’s fingers slide lower still, pressing against a part of him that Kageyama can’t see. All he can see is the pale skin of Hinata’s inner thighs and the tendons in his wrist pulling taut as he pushes, retreats, and pushes again.
Then he moans.
The sound goes straight to Kageyama’s dick. His thoughts are consumed, like dry tinder in a raging fire, by the fantasy of Hinata’s fingers pushing into the tight heat of his own body just like that. Kageyama could kneel between his legs and watch Hinata’s tender skin stretch around his fingers, watch the muscles in his thighs quiver and his abs flex as he writhes against the sheets.
The pleasure is fast, hot, spreading through his entire body between one heartbeat and the next; Kageyama comes—hard. Harder than he has in a long time. Maybe ever. It rolls through him in endless waves until he’s clenching his teeth hard enough to hurt and the mess he made all over his stomach is dripping down his sides, staining his sheets.
When his vision clears and his brain comes back online (most of the way, at least, the rest of it might need 1-3 business days to recover fully), Kageyama picks up his phone.
Kageyama:
Ummm. So I
You know
Hinata:
yeah? ヽ(♡‿♡)ノ
that was fast hehe
Kageyama:
SHUT UP
It’s your fault. You and your stupid thighs and your stupid tan line
When the fuck did you get so big anyway?
Hinata:
some guy i know told me it’s important to drink milk
so I can get big and strong
Kageyama’s cheeks burn red again as he smiles, hit by an unexpected burst of affection.
Kageyama:
He sounds very smart.
Hinata:
he has his moments
like a minute ago (ˆ ڡ ˆ)
that was a fun… moment
we could do it again sometime if you want
?
The thought returns: Hinata’s gonna kill him.
Forget professional volleyball, right now all Kageyama wants to do is this, forever. In his dark bedroom, lit only by the harsh glow of his phone, it feels like it could be just the two of them, caught in a bubble of… whatever this is.
Better yet, he could just fly to Brazil and pull all the sounds he wants to hear out of Hinata’s mouth himself. He stops that train of thought just short of looking up ticket prices for a one-way trip to Rio.
Kageyama:
Yeah we could do that
Horny-ta
Hinata:
yamaaaaa hahaha
so lame
Kageyama:
You did it first!!
Whatever. Dumbass
Hinata:
it’s getting pretty late for you huh
are you getting sleepy yamayama?
Kageyama:
Yeah, a little.
I guess I should sleep soon but
Hinata?
Hinata:
yeah?
Kageyama:
I had fun so uh. Thanks.
Shit. Is that weird to say?
Hinata:
a little but you’re weird so it’s ok
you’re welcome (￣З￣)
I’ll tell kenma to send me more sexy underwear
maybe a speedo !!
Kageyama:
Oh my god no
I don’t think I could handle that
Hinata:
oh i think you could
handle it (￢‿￢ )
ok sleep now you pervert
sweet dreams
Kageyama:
I’M NOT A PERVERT YOU ARE
Asshole!
…
Have a good day
- ☼ -
Things change, and they don’t.
Hinata is the same constant presence in Kageyama’s life, and in his thoughts. The Adlers finish out the season at the top of the league, and Hinata and Heitor win their first big tournament. The picture Hinata sends him that day, of him holding an absurdly large trophy while he smiles so big it almost hurts to look at, becomes Kageyama’s phone background.
Sometimes, a professional game will air on TV at the right time, and they stay on the phone throughout the entire game, talking as they watch. Hinata tells Kageyama stories about Heitor (he still doesn’t understand what is happening with that man’s love life, or his life in general), and Kageyama fills Hinata in on all the V.League gossip. (He doesn’t really try to learn anything about the other players and the weird spiderweb of who is sleeping with who, but it’s inescapable, and it’s worth it to hear Hinata laugh when he tells him all the juicy details).
Hinata is his best friend, and that doesn’t change. Sometimes they’re something else altogether, two people tangled together in desire they can’t put words to. It’s fun, and it’s blisteringly hot, but Kageyama always wants more. It feels good and it hurts and Kageyama can’t make sense of any of it.
So they live their lives on opposite sides of the earth, and they talk.
Only now, Hinata’s bright sunny laugh makes Kageyama ache when it comes through the tinny speaker of his cell phone. Now, there’s a moment before they hang up the phone that feels so thick with words unspoken that Kageyama can barely breathe. Now, Hinata’s voice goes soft and intimate when he does say goodbye, and Kageyama knows his does the same.
The difference is that now, Kageyama is thinking about turning the tables. He’s always looking, watching, wanting. Hinata reciprocates, and he always seems more than willing to send Kageyama whatever he wants to see, but it rarely goes the other way.
Kageyama went to the gym earlier and afterwards, found himself with a burst of confidence, a full-length mirror, and an opportunity. (Gym days with Ushijima are always his favorite, because keeping up with him almost feels like keeping up with Hinata. Almost. At the end of the ninety minute workout Kageyama is sweaty, flushed, and his muscles bulge a little more than usual. He can admit it: he looks good.)
Kageyama swipes through the pictures he took and chooses one he likes to post to his story. He almost never posts anything unless he has to, but right now he wants to. The feeling is new and not entirely comfortable yet, rippling and itching over his skin. He chooses something simple and subtle, a basic selfie in the mirror at the gym. Kageyama types out an innocuous—if a little boring—caption, and looks at it one more time before posting.
It’s a decent picture of him. He’s wearing a pair of thin joggers and a tank top, and the exposed skin of his arms and face are shiny with sweat, cheeks still a little pink with exertion. He doesn’t take a lot of selfies but he knows the general mechanics, and he’s self-aware enough to know he looks hot. The question lingering in his mind is if he looks hot enough to get what he wants out of this.
And what he wants is attention from a certain orange-haired loudmouth.
Kageyama’s phone buzzes a minute later. It’s an Instagram notification, a message from ninjashouyou. Well. That was fast.
ninjashouyou:
well hello there
good gym day huh?
Setter_Tobio:
Yeah
I went with Ushijima-san and Hoshiumi-san
ninjashouyou:
omg i’m jealous, i wanna work out with them
and you look
WOW
ヽ(♡‿♡)ノ
Setter_Tobio:
Wow isn’t an adjective, dumbass
Kageyama chews on his lip. A minute passes, and Hinata doesn’t reply. Kageyama picks up his phone, anxiety like a vice around his ribs.
Setter_Tobio:
I took more though
If you wanted to see
Shit. Okay. He takes a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. Kageyama can’t quite understand how Hinata always seems so chill about this, when he’s never been chill about anything a day in his life.
Kageyama is eager, okay? He wants to show Hinata the pictures he took for him, and he doesn’t want to wait. He wants to drive Hinata wild, to make him as distracted and needy as Hinata always makes him feel, if he can.
He hopes he can.
ninjashouyou:
yeah!!!
send them to me
Setter_Tobio:
You’re so demanding
Did you forget your manners in Brazil?
ninjashouyou:
oh did you want me to say please
you like that huh?
This is not going the way Kageyama had planned. Not at all. He spent the morning worrying over the pictures he’d taken, selecting the handful that he thought would be the best ones to make Hinata want him. He had a plan!
One message from Hinata and he’s the one who is hot under the collar, squirming in his seat and thinking about the word please on his best friend’s full lips.
Setter_Tobio:
Shut up!
…
Maybe
ninjashouyou:
PLEASE show me more of that hot sexy body
hows that?
Setter_Tobio:
You’re an idiot
[Image Attached]
The picture Kageyama sends is, admittedly, not quite fair play, but he doesn’t see the point in being subtle now. He has the bottom hem of his tank top pulled up like he’s using it to wipe at his sweaty face. It leaves his abs on display above the waistband of his sweats. Kageyama knows he’s not as thick as Hinata is now, or as big and muscular as Ushijima, but objectively, he knows he has nice abs.
Objectively knowing that he looks good like this doesn’t seem to soothe the burning need that sits low in his belly for Hinata’s attention and praise. Kageyama wants Hinata to want him, and he can admit that to himself.
(He can admit it only to himself, when he’s alone, silently, in his own head. But it counts.)
ninjashouyou:
fuck!!!!
is there more?
Satisfaction and desire twist hot in his veins, and Kageyama takes a shuddering breath. No matter how bad he wanted it, Hinata’s unabashed attention is heady, like a drug. It makes Kageyama feel impulsive, reckless. Needy.
Setter_Tobio:
[Image Attached]
ninjashouyou:
you’re unreal you know that?
sooooooo hot
There’s a vulnerability to this, Kageyama realizes. It can be scary to show yourself to someone this intimately, to trust them with the details of your body and the desire in your mind, and he’s never trusted someone with it before.
It always seemed easy to Hinata, being vulnerable. Kageyama’s not sure he knows how not to be open and genuine, wearing his heart on his sleeve for everyone to see no matter how deep his feelings may run.
Does it feel like this to him? Like his heart is in his throat every time he hits the send button, not dropping back into its place in his chest until the reply comes? Hinata sends so much of himself, freely and enthusiastically, and up until now, Kageyama didn’t understand how much trust that really takes.
Hinata’s always been like that, though—trusting willfully, foolishly, completely. When it comes to Kageyama, at least.
Maybe Kageyama can give him the same trust in return. Being vulnerable has never come naturally to him before—in the past it was sometimes impossible. It’s easier now, but not entirely. He opened up to Ushijima about his grandfather, he tells his teammates when he’s having an off day and sometimes he even lets them help him.
It’s even easier with Hinata.
The realization comes, unprompted, and startles Kageyama out of his wandering thoughts. It’s true, he knows it is. Vulnerability and trust. They go hand in hand, and years ago, Kageyama didn’t know how to offer either to anybody. He was hurt and alone and in the dark—until Hinata lit up the world again.
Shit.
Okay, maybe the right time to have the life-altering realization that you might be more than in-lust with your best friend isn’t in the middle of sexting said best friend.
Kageyama’s chest aches, a familiar feeling he can finally put a name to—he loves Hinata. He misses Hinata. He misses him like a lung, and every glimpse he gets of his best friend soothes the ache for a little while until the next one comes.
Maybe it makes him a little weak, because when he picks his phone back up, it’s not to flirt. His chest is throbbing now, squeezed tight with longing and a hundred other things, and he needs—
Setter_Tobio:
Can I see you?
ninjashouyou:
yeah
( ◡‿◡ )
[Image attached]
Hinata is beautiful. He’s a dream.
In the photo, Hinata is stretched out under the sun, wearing his Bouncing Ball hat and strawberry-print swim trunks. His tanned skin is shiny with water and sunscreen and the backs of his legs are coated with sand. He’s smiling with his mouth open, like he’s mid-laugh, and even though he’s wearing sunglasses, Kageyama knows his eyes are smiling too and crinkled at the corners.
He’s like the sun, almost too bright to look at directly. Kageyama does anyway, staring until his eyes hurt. It takes him a few seconds (maybe minutes, or hours? Who knows) to notice that even though it’s late in Brazil, this picture is lit by the midday sunshine.
Setter_Tobio:
Isn’t it…. After dark there?
ninjashouyou:
yeah ok
you caught me that was earlier
can’t blame a guy for putting his best foot forward though
best selfie forward?
anyway!!!
[Image Attached]
This one isn’t any better. It’s a dimly lit selfie, just close enough to Hinata’s face for the phone screen to illuminate him in white light. He’s bundled up in bed with the blankets pulled up around his neck, his tongue stuck out playfully.
Kageyama is not thinking playful thoughts.
He’s thinking about Hinata’s mouth. The light catches on his tongue, reflected in the slick moisture there, and on the hint of his straight teeth. God, he’s never wanted to kiss anything more in his entire life. He chews at his own lower lip until it’s tender and swollen.
Setter_Tobio:
That’s better
You look good
ninjashouyou:
you can barely see me!!!
what looks good exactly, hornyama?
(￢‿￢ )
Setter_Tobio:
STOP CALLING ME THAT
Your mouth looks good
Your… tongue
ninjashouyou:
oh it is good
(￢‿￢ )
Setter_Tobio:
That’s some pretty big talk
Makes me wonder
Kageyama chews on his lower lip, hesitating. Before he can decide if he wants to continue, his phone buzzes.
ninjashouyou:
makes you wonder what
tell me
That anxious feeling flares to life in Kageyama’s gut again. It’s nerve wracking, but he finds that he’s not scared. He’s excited.
Setter_Tobio:
Wonder if you can back up that big talk
I wonder
How good it really is
ninjashouyou:
do you wanna find out?
(￢‿￢ )
Fuck. Of course he does.
He can picture it: the competitive glint in Hinata’s eyes as he looks up at Kageyama from between his knees, eyelashes fluttering as his lips stretch around Kageyama, refusing to close and shut off that look. His hot, slick tongue and the pulsing kiss of his throat against Kageyama’s tip, the messy wetness of his drooling mouth.
Setter_Tobio:
Would you show me?
ninjashouyou:
i do like proving you wrong
so yeah
if you wanted me to
Push and pull, ebb and flow.
Kageyama wonders who will be the one to push past the line tonight. It’s ephemeral now, like a line etched in sand, washed away by the high tide several times a day before someone draws it again.
Setter_Tobio:
I’d like to see you try
Hinata doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then two.
Oh god, maybe he went too far somehow? Kageyama reads and rereads their messages, but he can’t see where he might have messed up. He starts typing out a message, telling Hinata it’s okay, he should get some rest; he deletes it. The next message he types is about how he’s busy and has to run. He deletes that one, too—it’s too flimsy of an excuse. Maybe he should just apologize?
Kageyama is frozen, staring at his phone in his stupid hands, when it starts to buzz.
It keeps buzzing. It’s not a message.
Hinata is calling him.
Kageyama stares at the image of Hinata’s contact photo for one ring, two, before answering. Immediately he can hear HInata’s breath, the familiar soft sound of it. He hears Hinata’s box fan humming in the background and the noise of the city filtering in through his window.
“Hi,” Hinata whispers.
“Hi,” Kageyama whispers back.
Neither of them speak again for a while. Kageyama focuses on Hinata’s breath, noticing—hoping—that it sounds a little rough. Like he’s worked up. Like maybe he’s…
“Are you…?” His voice comes out gravelly, uneven.
“Yeah,” Hinata’s voice comes only a breath later. His voice is deeper than usual. “Is that okay?”
Kageyama’s mouth is so dry. He fumbles for the water bottle on his nightstand and takes a deep drink.
“Yes.”
“I want…” Hinata trails off on a shuddering breath. God, he sounds so good in Kageyama’s ear. He presses his phone harder against his face, trying to shove the sound deeper into his mind. Where it will never leave.
“What?”
“I want you to too,” Hinata says, and Kageyama thinks he hears a note of shyness in it. It’s comforting. “I wanna feel good… together.”
Kageyama has to bite back an embarrassingly lusty noise. He shuffles in his bed, sliding his pajama pants down and gripping his erection through his boxers.
“Yeah,” Kageyama says. “Yeah, okay.”
This is better, it is. Kageyama can hear each of Hinata’s breaths so clearly, he can almost imagine that he’s feeling them too, hot and wet against his skin.
It’s also worse.
Kageyama really should have expected this. He knows that, distantly, in the part of his mind that isn’t consumed with the pleasure coursing through his veins and the dizzying need swirling through his mind. He knows how Hinata is, and he should have been prepared.
Because once Hinata starts talking, he doesn’t fucking stop.
“You looked so good in those pictures,” Hinata pants. “Fuck, you’re so hot. Looked so hot.”
“Yeah?”
“Yesss. Did you—did you take them for me? Were you thinking about me?”
Kageyama swallows a whine. His fingers circle his tip, sliding against wet fabric with the barest of pressure.
“Yeah,” Kageyama admits, even if every word feels like he’s saying too much.
It feels like if he says I took pictures for you, so you’d want me like I want you, Hinata will be able to hear the words he isn’t saying: I think I’m in love with you.
Hinata groans.
“Fuck, I love that. So hot—”
Love. Love, love, love. The word echoes in Kageyama’s mind, and his cock throbs.
“You do?”
“Makes them so much hotter,” Hinata says. “I forgot to ask—did you take more?”
“I did. I took a video too.”
“Send it to me,” Hinata keens. “Please, shit, I need—”
Kageyama puts his phone on speaker, unwilling to part with the sound of Hinata’s every breath, opening their texts with one hand and sending the video. It isn’t much, not like the ones Hinata has sent him, but it’s not bad. He had put the hem of his tank top between his teeth, dragging a hand down his abs to the waistband of his sweats, tugging it down teasingly. He only pulls it low enough to reveal the hint of dark curls around the base of his dick before he lets it snap back up again.
“Oh my goddd,” Hinata breathes. “You’re just—ngh—you’re so—is this what you wanted, Kageyama? Did you want me to do this?”
“What if I did?” Kageyama challenges; it’s easier to push than be pushed, he thinks. His fingers find bare skin and he pulls himself out of his boxers, cool air kissing where he’s already dripping wet.
“Oh my god. That’s—good, so good. Can’t believe that’s all for me—”
For a minute, they just breathe together. Kageyama’s throat relaxes and some of the noises he’s been holding back slip out. Not quite moans, but something breathier and quieter; each time it happens Hinata makes a sound in answer.
Then Kageyama hears it: the repetitive slick sound of Hinata’s hand on his own length, slow and wet. He moans.
“So hot,” Hinata tells him. “You sound so hot.”
“Tell me—” Kageyama grits out, teeth clenched against the pleasure threatening to swallow him whole. “What you’re thinking about.”
“You.”
“I fucking hope so,” Kageyama snaps back. Hinata lets out a light, breathless laugh, and Kageyama has to grip himself at the base hard to keep himself from coming just at that sound. It shouldn’t be so hot, it shouldn’t, and yet.
Hinata keeps making these aborted sounds, like he’s opening his mouth to speak and then closing it again.
“Whatever you’re gonna say, just say it.”
Hinata whines a little, and it sounds like it’s filtered through his teeth. Like he’s trying to hide it behind them, keep it trapped in his mouth.
But he says nothing.
Kageyama takes a shuddering breath, and squeezes his eyes closed. The onslaught of Hinata’s brazen words is overwhelming, but in a way he can mostly handle. Hinata’s silence? That’s unbearable. He needs—
“Please?” he asks.
He thought it would feel weird, a little embarrassing, pleading out loud, but Hinata moans loudly, and all Kageyama can think is that he’d plead even more pathetically just to make Hinata sound like that again. Again and again.
“I just… I wish I’d been there. When you took that video.”
Oh. Oh.
He wasn’t expecting that, but he can’t pretend he doesn’t love it. He wants that too, but for some reason, despite everything that’s already happened and Hinata’s shameless mouth, he didn’t know Hinata would want that too.
“If you were there?” Kageyama prompts, “What would you do?”
“What would you let me do?”
“I asked you first!”
Hinata laughs, bright and loud, and after a few seconds Kageyama can’t help joining in. He knows they’re ridiculous, even now, even while doing this, finding something to argue about.
Though, he thinks, it would be weirder if they didn’t argue a little. It wouldn’t feel right somehow.
“So, hypothetically,” Hinata begins, a note of humor still threaded through his voice, “If I was there, and I wanted to touch you, that would be okay?”
“Yes.”
Hinata curses, low and dark. Something about the admission opens the floodgates again.
“Your abs looked so good—wanna get on my knees and lick them—fuck—”
Kageyama is throbbing, muscles quivering. He trails a finger over his abs, imagining it’s Hinata’s tongue.
“Want your hands on me,” Hinata continues, his voice shaking as the wet schlick schlick of his hand continues in the background, “God, I love your hands—want ‘em in my hair while I swallow your cock—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Kageyama pants. It’s all he has to offer; his brain has melted into goo and he’s pretty sure it’s slowly leaking out of his ears. Who needs a brain anyway, he thinks. All he needs is this, forever.
“Could watch me in the mirror while you fuck my mouth—”
“Jesus fuck, Hinata—you’re so—how do you just say stuff like that—”
“You’re the one—ha—who is always teasing me about my brain to mouth filter, aren’t you?” Hinata asks breathlessly. “You gonna complain about that now too?”
“No, stupid. I’m not complaining, I just—you’d look so good like that.”
He can almost hear the sinful curve of Hinata’s smile when he asks, “With my mouth full?”
“Full of me, yeah—god, Hinata—”
“Don’t—don’t laugh at me but I need—”
“Tell me.”
He can hear the click of Hinata’s throat as he swallows thickly.
“Use my name—I need you to—”
“Shoyo,” Kageyama whispers. ”Shoyo-”
Hinata moans, and the sounds of his hand speed up, until it’s frantic, needy—then it stops altogether. He sighs into the phone, loud and long. Was he close? Kageyama knows he is—the right word or noise from Hinata—Shoyo—could push him right over the edge.
“I can’t stop looking at you. Your stupid—muscles, god,” Hinata whispers. Then he chuckles low and warm and before Kageyama can ask him what exactly could be funny right now, he says, “Think those muscles are strong enough to hold me up for a bit? We could…”
“Of course I’m strong enough, dumbass!”
A competitive heat flares to life in Kageyama’s chest. It makes him burn hotter, hotter, like a dying star, until he’s pretty sure his sheets will catch on fire soon. His skin is slick with sweat and he can taste the salt of it on his upper lip, slipping into his mouth, open and panting.
“Yeah?” Hinata challenges. “Strong enough to fuck me like that?”
“Ohmyfuckinggod—” The words come out in a rush, and Kageyama can feel his impending orgasm uncoiling in his but, slowly filling his limbs. “Yes—yes—I’d fuck you so good—Shoyo—”
“Yes—want that so bad, you have no idea,” Hinata pants. Each heavy breath that falls from his mouth carries the faintest hint of a whine. Kageyama can only imagine how Hinata would actually sound if he was splitting him open, pushing into Hinata’s body and watching him fall apart around him. He’d be louder than this, shameless.
“Think I could pick you up like that too,” Hinata’s voice shakes. “Make you feel so good—ngh—I can’t—”
“Shoyo, I’m—”
He hears Hinata come with a loud cry, and pleasure starbursts bright and white behind Kageyama’s eyes. It seems endless, waves and waves of glittering heat through his veins; his cock throbs and pulses in his hand as he coats his fingers and stomach and chest and even his chin with his release. He hears Hinata moan his name, each syllable chopped into smaller pieces as he shakes through his own peak, and it triggers one more blinding flare of pleasure through Kageyama’s entire body.
Time moves slow and syrupy; Kageyama can’t seem to catch his breath as he comes down. He drags air into his lungs but it’s too thick, it clings and lingers in his throat. He hears Hinata in a similar state, and once he can breathe again, awkward laughter spills from his lips. He’s never heard that sound come from his own mouth, but he likes it.
He loves the way Hinata laughs and pants in his ear; it’s all pleased warmth and intimacy. Something shared, and not quite secret, but private—only theirs. They breathe and laugh together and Kageyama goes to rest a hand on his stomach and finds it covered with sticky but drying cum.
Right. That. Kageyama rolls out of bed, trying in vain to avoid making a bigger mess while he retrieves the tissues from his desk. But his trembling legs buckle under him and he almost drops his phone, catching it between two fingers after smacking it around in the air a couple times. “Shit!”
He hears Hinata’s laughter booming through the phone speaker from a foot away. That laugh he knows—it’s Hinata’s loudest, and always at Kageyama’s expense. Normally it would make him legitimately annoyed but now, he can’t find it in him to feel anything but good.
“Shut up, dumbass!” Kageyama grumbles, because he’s a creature of habit. He hobbles across his bedroom on unsteady legs and swipes at the mess, making it worse in the process before it gets better. “‘S your fault my legs barely work right now.”
“Not sorry,” Hinata says in a sing-song voice, undoubtedly smiling so wide Kageyama can hear it in every syllable.
That’s okay. Kageyama doesn’t want him to be sorry for any of it.
Once he’s clean (or as clean as he’s reasonably going to get at the moment), Kageyama flops back into his bed with a loud thump. He watches the fan on his ceiling spin slowly above him and listens to Hinata shuffling around in his own bed. He yawns, loud and long, and Kageyama realizes it’s almost noon in Japan. It’s late for Hinata—too late for him to be awake.
“You should go to bed,” Kageyama tells him, though he is already dreading the silence he’ll be left with once he’s alone.
“Okay, Bossyama,” Hinata agrees, and his voice is already soft around the edges with sleep. “You’re probably right. Gotta work at nine tomorrow. I think.”
Kageyama doesn’t tease him for not knowing his own schedule. Kageyama’s not sure he can remember his own address right now, and he hopes Hinata’s brain is just as scrambled.
He knows Hinata needs to sleep. He should hang up, and let him do that, and Kageyama should continue with his day, and hopefully get something done other than jerking off with his best friend and listening to his even breathing in the aftermath.
He doesn’t want to hang up though. His heart beats against his aching ribs and he feels his eyes burn strangely.
“I miss you,” he whispers.
Hinata is quiet for a few seconds, then he says, “Miss you too, Yamayama.”
Kageyama hums. The words Goodnight, Shoyo, are on his tongue, but he can’t make his jaw work.
“Have a good day, Tobio,” Hinata murmurs. He already sounds half-asleep, and something about his utter exhaustion makes Kageyama want to purr with pride. He did that. Regardless of the late hour, he’s the one that made Hinata come so hard it siphoned out his energy.
Kageyama’s bed feels cold. More than ever before, he wishes there wasn’t an entire planet between them, and he could curl his body around Hinata’s and hold him as he drifts off to sleep.
He nuzzles his face into his pillow and tries to remember how Hinata’s bed always smelled. The nose tickling spice of tiger balm on his aching shoulders and the orange blossom of his shampoo and the warm sunshine of Hinata’s body, all bled into soft cotton.
“Night, Shoyo,” Kageyama says. “Love you.”
His heart thuds against his ribs just once before he realizes what he just said. He slams his thumb into the ‘End Call’ button just in time, yelling Shit! into his empty room a second later.
Kageyama turns his phone off completely and tries to resist the urge, yet again, to snap it in half and flee the country.
- ☼ -
The izakaya is loud and chaotic. It’s almost enough to drown out the constant buzz of anxiety in Kageyama’s mind. Almost.
It’s been almost a week, and he still can’t get the moment out of his mind. It’s a hungry ghost haunting him, devouring him from the inside out.
Night, Shoyo. Love you.
After screaming into his pillow for a solid ten minutes, Kageyama had tried to make something of his day. He’d washed his sheets and pillowcases, ignoring the mess he’d left there as he did. He ate lunch. He went to practice. But the awareness of his parting words dogged his every move; he’d tossed balls too high, too low, too hard. Kageyama knew his teammates had noticed, but they were graceful about it—everyone has off days, after all.
It was harder to have grace for himself, but that has never been easy.
When he’d turned his phone back on before bed that night, he let it buzz on his bedside table without checking the notifications. There was a message from Hinata, but he couldn’t make himself look at it. He almost deleted it, driven by an impulsive, manic fear, but stopped himself at the last minute.
The next morning he had a few more messages from Hinata, and when he opened them, heart throbbing in his throat, they were all…. Normal. Like nothing had happened. Kageyama knew that was the best outcome, that Hinata would pretend like Kageyama hadn’t said anything but a standard goodbye, but he’d still felt strangely disappointed. It made no sense.
His disappointment has twisted into fear over the last few days, because while Hinata hadn’t said anything about the words Kageyama had let spill in a moment of weakness—he hasn’t said much of anything else either.
He’s been quiet—and quiet is not a word that a single soul on earth would associate with Hinata Shoyo—and it’s painfully clear that something has changed. He’s still sweet and bubbly, he still sends good morning and good night texts every day, but it’s still different. There are long spans of silence now, hours when Kageyama hears nothing at all.
Worst of all—Hinata stops sending pictures.
He’s stopped posting them too. It’s like a drug, the less and less that Kageyama gets, the more desperate he feels for even the tiniest glimpse. He’s pretty sure it’s because of him; he fucked everything up.
What is he supposed to do? Apologize? Take it back? Kageyama knows, with the kind of surety he rarely finds off the volleyball court, that he meant it. He means it. He loves Hinata. He’s in love with Hinata.
Which means this time: it’s Kageyama’s fault. He opened his stupid mouth and said the last thing he meant to say, and he made Hinata uncomfortable. He can’t bring himself to ask Hinata about the new distance yawning wide between them, because he knows it’s his fault. If Hinata wants to pretend like nothing happened, he should do the same thing. He should give him… space. Or whatever.
Now, he’s sitting sandwiched between Ushijima and Kuroo-san, picking at the label on his beer and staring into his plate like it might hold the answers. Conversation is loud and bright around him, but it reaches Kageyama’s ears like it’s coming through water. Kuroo is animated next to him, hands flapping around as he tells a story about Miya-san making a fool of himself at a JVA event last week. Normally, Kageyama would like hearing about Miya-san being embarrassed in any capacity—he doesn’t like the way the guy looks at Hinata, okay—but tonight it hardly registers.
He’s pathetic, really. Sad and pining over a boy that doesn’t love him back, not the way he wants.
Kageyama is a professional athlete! He’s famous! He played in the Olympics! This is ridiculous. He huffs a disgusted breath and takes a long drink. The bubbles in the beer scratch at his throat but something about the sting is welcome, almost pleasant.
Kuroo nudges a shoulder into Kageyama’s. Before the game tonight there had been a JVA event, a kids’ training camp, and Kuroo had been there to oversee it. He seems to come alive during those events, beaming and full of joy. The joy lingers now, in his bright eyes and the timbre of his voice. It’s always a good night when he joins the team for food and drinks after a game.
Kuroo is a loud, silly dork, his laugh braying and obnoxiously loud, but Kageyama has always liked him. It’s hard not to like someone who loves volleyball as much as he does. Kageyama wonders if he misses it, the smell and sound of the court, the sting of a ball striking his forearms, the satisfaction of blocking an otherwise perfect spike. Kuroo always seemed hungry for volleyball—a hunger Kageyama recognized in himself, and in, well, it doesn’t matter—and it’s possible that working at the JVA sates that hunger for him. It’s hard for Kageyama to imagine, doing everything but actually playing, and not feeling the loss of the game like a hole in his chest.
“How is Kozume-san doing?” Kageyama asks. He’s polite, he can make conversation, even while his heart is crumbling slowly to pieces in his chest like rock eroding into sand.
Kuroo lights up. He starts rambling about Kenma and he looks so disgustingly enraptured that Kageyama’s pretty sure his pupils have transformed into little hearts in his eyes. When he’s done talking about Kenma’s streaming channel—none of which makes a lick of sense to Kageyama, but he smiles and nods anyway—he launches into a new ramble about Bouncing Ball.
“It seems like the business is doing well?”
“Oh, it’s great! Kenma’s so brilliant, I swear he surprises the other board members at every turn. No matter how long he’s been doing this, they still look at him and see a sloppy, irresponsible kid. He proves them wrong every time,” Kuroo’s grin is almost feral. “It’s a sight for sure. They just got some new merch, too! I was going to wear my shirt tonight, but ya know, gotta wear the official garb for the official events and all that.”
“The merch looks great,” Kageyama concedes with a pang. “The logo is nice. Clean and simple—Kozume-san has great taste.”
“How did you—oh, Chibi-Chan got some, yeah? I told Kenma he has to promote somehow, and his sponsored athletes are the best way!”
Kageyama nods.
“He just got some new stuff in stock, too. He designed a bigger logo for some products, and we added accessories like key chains and fanny packs and stuff,” Kuroo continues. His eyes and voice are so soft when he’s talking about Kenma. Is he like that when he talks about Hinata?
“Are they selling them or just giving them to the athletes?” Kageyama considers if he’d buy some, then rejects the idea quickly. The image of Hinata sprawled out in bouncing ball clothing, whimpering and moaning for him, is too easy to conjure in his mind. It would hurt a little too much, he thinks, to wear the same logo and have to see it all the time.
“He’s working on an online shop—probably launching next month! And I think he’s giving Chibi-chan some new stuff when he sees him tomorrow.”
Wait—what?
“Tomorrow?” The word comes out in a strangled whisper.
Kuroo’s eyes go so wide it would be comical if not for the new flare of pain in Kageyama’s ribs. “Um—maybe Kenma meant he was sending them to Shoyo tomorrow? Like in the mail. To Brazil. Where he is.”
If Kenma is seeing Hinata tomorrow that means…
Is Hinata in Japan? Would he come to Japan… and not tell Kageyama?
His stomach roils; he feels like he might puke. He mumbles some excuses and leaves the table, putting some yen down carefully for his portion, and somehow gets outside. He gulps the cold night air but it feels like there’s iron bands wrapped around his chest, squeezing so tight there’s no room for air at all.
He pulls out his phone with shaking fingers, opening Instagram for the first time all day. Shoyo has only posted one thing since that phone call; he shared a local magazine’s article about him and Heitor with too many emojis, but it wasn’t something new. Kageyama saw the photos for the article weeks ago, when they’d first been taken. His story is still suspiciously empty.
Kageyama can’t recall the last time he looked at anyone else’s stories—at least on purpose—but he clicks through them now. He gets to Bokuto-san’s, and his heart stops.
He sees a mop of orange hair between Bokuto’s flexing biceps, as he crushes him in something between a headlock and a hug. Bokuto’s head is thrown back and he’s laughing; the caption reads My protege came all the way from Brazil just to see me!!! How cool am I!! The next picture is of Hinata too, in practice clothes and kneepads, lacing up his volleyball shoes. He’s laughing with Bokuto and a few of the other MSBY players, and Miya Atsumu’s arm is slung around his shoulders.
For a moment, only a moment, all Kageyama can think about is how gorgeous Hinata looks under the gym lights, thick muscles compressed into his shorts and black sleeves, relaxed where he leans against the gym wall. Even the fluorescent lights of the gym can’t wash out the warmth of him, the brightness of his smile.
Then it hits him again—Hinata is in Japan. Right now. And he didn’t tell Kageyama.
Hinata doesn’t want to see him.
He ruined everything.
- ☼ -
Kageyama’s bad couple of days turns into an entire week. A week of flinching every time his phone vibrates. A week of prickly anger he hasn’t felt in years. A week of bad tosses and sleepless nights and concerned glances.
A week of missing Hinata; a week of being angry at him for lying.
It gets bad enough that Ushijima pulls him aside after their Saturday morning practice. The looks their teammates shoot in their direction as they file out of the locker room tells Kageyama that there had been a discussion, and Ushijima had been nominated to have this awkward conversation.
He looks as uncomfortable as Kageyama feels when he asks him what’s wrong, his voice quiet and a little uncertain. Kageyama shrugs, and says, “I’m sorry, I know I’ve been off this week. It’s just… personal stuff.”
Ushijima peers at him, in that uncanny, see-right-through-you way he sometimes does, and asks, “Is it about Hinata-san?”
Of course it is. Kageyama’s phone is like a heavy rock in his pocket, weighing him down as he sinks deeper into the dark churning waters of his hurt. He thinks about when Hinata had texted him earlier in the morning, the way he does every morning.
Hinata:
good morning yamayama!! (⁀ᗢ⁀)
sooooo what are you up to today?
anything fun?
Kageyama:
Practice.
Hinata:
oh
umm
ok
have fun
That was it. No teasing, no arguing. No silly selfies or stories about Heitor or Pedro, or lies about what he was doing in Rio.
Just… nothing.
Kageyama aches. His eyes burn and he tries to blink away the sensation. He hasn’t talked to anybody about this, no matter how heavy it’s been to carry on his own. He’s afraid that maybe speaking the words out loud might make things more real; and he’s said enough, hasn’t he?
“I—I made a mistake, I think,” he says slowly. He fixes his eyes on the floor between his shoes and squeezes his water bottle too tight. “I said something I shouldn’t have, and now…”
“Was it true, what you said?” Ushijima asks with all of his usual directness. It’s a comfort, actually.
“Well, yes, but—”
“You should always tell the truth.” Ushijima nods, as if he’s affirming one of life’s most basic rules, comforting himself with his own rigid moral code. “Even if the person you are telling it to is not ready to hear it. It is the right thing to do.”
“I don’t think I was ready to say it,” Kageyama says in a small voice. In the empty room it echoes around them.
“That sounds… more complicated.”
Kageyama takes a shuddering breath. “What if I—what if he—”
He can’t say it. What if he lost Hinata forever because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut? What if his best friend is slipping like sand through his fingers because he wanted more than he could have?
“I think,” Ushijima begins, his brows furrowed. “That you and Hinata-san have a very strong bond. That kind of connection is difficult to break, and it does not seem like Hinata-san would hold something like... whatever you said against you.”
Kageyama’s laugh is hollow. “I thought you didn’t like Hinata.”
“I do not.” Ushijima sounds so serious. A delirious laugh bubbles up Kageyama’s throat and he barely holds it back.
“But you like him,” Ushijima continues. "And you care about him. You are good. Together.”
“We aren’t together.”
“Yes. He is in Brazil, and you are here. But whatever happened, I am sure that Hinata-san understands.”
Kageyama knows he’s wrong, but he doesn’t want to argue. He can tell Ushijima is quickly approaching his limit for intrusive personal conversations anyway. He knows the man isn’t a robot like many people assume, and that he feels things very deeply, but navigating the messiness of other peoples’ feelings takes a bit out of his teammate and mentor. His friend.
“Yeah, maybe,” Kageyama concedes.
Ushijima nods. He rests a broad hand on Kageyama’s shoulder and squeezes once, firm and kind. “It is difficult to be so far from those that you… care about.”
Kageyama thinks about Ushijima and his late night video calls. The picture on the background of his phone of his smiling face squished against another face, one with bright red eyes and even brighter hair. He thinks about the way Ushijima comes into sharper focus when Tendou Satori is in the crowd at one of their games, screaming louder than anyone else for his husband.
Kageyama swallows around the lump in his throat.
“It really is,” he whispers.
“It will be alright.”
Kageyama nods, and lets Ushijima slip away, leaving him alone in the locker room.
It will not be alright. But he’s glad that, at the very least, he has good friends.
- ☼ -
Kageyama climbs the stairs to his apartment. It’s quiet today, except for the rain pounding against the windows. His umbrella drips with each step; it was sprinkling when he left the gym, but it’s a downpour now. More than once on his walk home, Kageyama had the urge to fold up his umbrella and let the water soak him to the bone. Only his self-preservation instincts and the knowledge that he has a game next week kept him from letting the storm take him.
It sounds peaceful even now, to let himself be carried away by the rain. Kageyama could use a little peace, and he has none. All he has is a head full of loud thoughts and a bag of dirty gym clothes to clean.
He’s making a mental checklist of what he needs to do when he gets home—unpack his bag, shower, make lunch, do laundry, call his sister—so he doesn’t notice the person standing on his doorstep until—
“Um. Hi?”
Hinata Shoyo is right there, outside Kageyama’s apartment door. Dripping wet. Literally dripping, drops of water hitting the doormat under him with muffled sounds.
Kageyama can’t do anything but stare. He blinks a few times as if that might clear his vision and reveal that the hallway is empty after all. But Hinata is still there, standing a few feet away and looking at Kageyama with a small, hesitant smile.
The sight of him is surreal, so close it almost hurts. Hinata’s jacket is soaked through, his orange curls plastered to his forehead and curling around pink cheeks. He’s a sunrise in the rain, and Kageyama has never seen anything so beautiful.
Kageyama glances at the bitten, slightly chapped lips that have been haunting his dreams, then looks away in a hurry. He glares a hole into the hallway floor.
“Can I come in?”
Kageyama forces his shaky limbs to move, creaking and stuttering through the motions like a rusty machine coming back to life. Hinata steps aside to let him unlock his door, but he’s still so close that Kageyama can feel the warmth of him in the air. He can smell him too, that stupid orange blossom shampoo and the thick scent of rain.
He takes his shoes and jacket off without a word, handing HInata a towel and walking away so he doesn’t have to watch him dry off. He’s not sure he could handle that.
The shock of Hinata’s presence fades, replaced by confusion and anger. What is he doing here? He’s been in town for at least a week and didn’t say a single word about it, and now he thinks he can just show up at Kageyama’s door uninvited?
He hears Hinata’s soft footfalls behind him as he mechanically unpacks his bag. He folds his dirty clothes as he piles them up together to be taken to the wash, just to have something to do with his hands. Just to have a reason not to turn around and look at Hinata. His throat is thick with words unsaid, all tangled together.
“So, uh. Hi,” Hinata says.
“You already said that.”
Hinata laughs nervously. “Heh, yeah, I guess I did. Did you just come from practice?”
“Yes.” Kageyama ran out of things to pull out of his bag a few seconds ago, so he walks to the sink to refill his empty water bottle. He sees a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye and turns away from it sharply. He can’t look at Hinata now.
“Kageyama—are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You won’t even—aren’t you, I don’t know, surprised that I’m here? In Japan?”
Kageyama laughs humorlessly. Surprised. That’s a feeling he’s had this week, sure. But it’s overshadowed by all the others.
“Not really,” he shrugs. “You’ve been here for a while, right?”
Hinata doesn’t say anything, and it’s the silence that cracks Kageyama’s resolve. Kageyama whirls on him, and if he weren’t so angry the sight of Hinata like this might have unraveled him entirely. He looks so different from the last time they faced each other, but he’s still so goddamn beautiful. Even with his wet hair and clothes giving the distinct impression of a shaggy dog that just rolled around in a few puddles, he’s the best thing Kageyama’s ever seen.
And he’s been lying to Kageyama for a week.
“Oh, I didn’t know that you—well I guess it makes sense—”
“So, what?” Kageyama bites out. “Ran out of other friends to hang out with, so you thought you’d come here?”
The words come out sharp, biting. Kageyama hopes they’re sharp enough for Hinata to not hear the hurt beneath the edges.
“No, it’s not like that—”
“Then why didn’t you tell me you were here? I thought you’d at least want to—”
See me.
Kageyama chokes those words back down. He’s not going to… to grovel for Hinata’s time and attention. He made it very clear how he feels, and contrary to popular belief, Kageyama can take a hint.
“Of course I wanted to see you! I just—”
“You just had better things to do,” Kageyama says bitterly. He turns away from Hinata again, blinking furiously. He will not cry about this, not in front of him. He curls his hands into fists, but the stinging pain of his nails digging crescents into his palms doesn’t help.
“Ugh, no! That’s not it at all! Please, Yama—”
“It’s fine,” Kageyama chokes out. “I know that what I said the other day was—”
“The other day?” Hinata interrupts in a soft voice. Kageyama can’t breathe. He hears Hinata step closer but he can’t move an inch. He sees their shadows on the floor getting closer and closer, until they’re one dark indistinct shape. “When you told me you loved me?”
He can’t do this. He wasn’t ready for this. He can’t say goodbye to Hinata, to his best friend, in his kitchen on a random rainy Saturday. It’s not supposed to be like this.
“I didn’t—it was an accident! I know I made you uncomfortable, but Hinata—”
“Uncomfortable?!”
There’s a hand on Kageyama’s shoulder, spinning him around with so much force he almost falls. Dumbly he thinks—Hinata really did grow a couple inches. He’d seen the marks Hinata made on the wall of his room in Brazil, listened to Hinata’s impassioned speeches about his new height, but the reality is dizzying.
Hinata’s warm brown eyes are bright, determined. His expression—Kageyama can’t make sense of it.
“You think you made me uncomfortable?” he asks, and there’s a challenge in his voice that Kageyama doesn’t know how to rise to. It’s so frustrating, he wants to scream.
He settles for yelling at Hinata. “I know I did, dumbass! You’ve been weird ever since!”
“I haven’t been weird! Kageyama, you’ve been weird! You won’t talk to me, you send me one word answers all day, and you won’t tell me why. I had to show up at your stupid apartment in the middle of a storm just to get you to talk to me!” Hinata’s chest heaves.
“Well I had to learn that you were in Japan from Kuroo-san!” Kageyama yells back. Heat is radiating off of Hinata, drawing Kageyama closer until their chests almost touch. There’s a drop of rain on Hinata’s temple, and he watches as it trickles down to his jaw, then his throat, disappearing into his shirt.
He hates this—he can’t think with Hinata this close. He clings to his anger desperately, but he has to clench his hands into fists to resist reaching for him.
“You lied to me, Hinata!”
“I had a reason!”
“What reason is that? Please, tell me why you had time to see Bokuto-san and Kozume and fucking Miya of all people, but not me?”
“It was a surprise, okay!”
“A surprise?! What the fuck does that mean?” Kageyama wants to pull at his own hair—he wants to pull Hinata’s too but he shoves that line of thinking down again and focuses on his anger.
Hinata lied to him. Sure, Kageyama had said the wrong thing, but that was an accident. A slip of the tongue. He didn’t lie to Hinata over and over again for days. And now he’s going to say it was to surprise him?
“Kageyama please, listen to me, okay?” Hinata pleads. Tears gather in his eyes but he blinks them away and squares his shoulders, taking a deep breath. “I came back this week because I was trying out for a few V.League teams, and—”
“Why wouldn’t you tell me that? Dumbass! I could have—”
“I couldn’t!” Hinata yells. “I didn’t want to tell you, in case I—in case they didn’t offer me a spot. I didn’t want…”
Kageyama thinks about the day they’d said goodbye, in the departures terminal of the Miyagi airport. The sheer determination that shone from Hinata, and his fierce promise to catch up to Kageyama and meet him back on the court.
If he’d tried, and failed… Kageyama swallows around the lump in his throat. Then—
“You are here. Now. Telling me,” Kageyama says slowly.
“I am.” Hinata’s smile spreads across his face like a sunrise. “I signed all the paperwork this morning. You’re looking at the newest member of the Black Jackals.”
MSBY. Bokuto-san’s team, and Miya-san’s. All the pictures that seemed to taunt Kageyama before are given new meaning as he puts the pieces together. His petty irritation about the existence of the blonde setter in Hinata’s personal space starts to fade. A little.
Kageyama watches Hinata’s face fall. How long has he been just standing here, blinking and staring off into space?
“Well, I mean I thought you’d be—but that’s okay! It’s no—no big deal, really. I can just—”
Kageyama doesn’t think. He takes Hinata’s face in his hands and kisses him. It’s firm and sweet, and not at all what Kageyama thought kissing Hinata would be like. Hinata’s hands come up to wrap around Kageyama’s wrists but he doesn’t pull him away. He just clings with his eyes squeezed shut and his lips pressed to Kageyama’s.
Kageyama breaks the kiss with a shuddering breath. He leans his forehead against Hinata’s and they stay like that, breathing together. Hinata's hands come up to cover Kageyama’s, trapping his fingers between warm skin, soft and calloused. Kageyama straightens so he can take Hinata in more fully. His tanned skin and rosy freckles, broad shoulders and fiery hair.
Kageyama’s best friend. His partner. The missing piece in his life, clicking back into place as if it never left.
Somebody even better than he could have imagined, cradled in Kageyama’s hands.
“You’re here,” Kageyama breathes.
“I’m here.” Hinata answers in a breathless voice, grinning up at him. Kageyama has seen this smile a thousand times and somehow right now it feels new. He feels his lips curving in reply.
Hinata slides his hands up to Kageyama’s shoulders and down to his waist. He uses his grip to pull Kageyama closer and turns his face up to Kageyama’s like a flower chasing the sun.
“I’m here,” Hinata whispers against Kageyama’s parted lips. “What are you gonna do about it?”
Hinata shrieks when Kageyama grabs his thighs and lifts him off the ground. He recovers quickly, wrapping his arms around Kageyama’s neck and kissing him hungrily.
“Told you I could pick you up,” Kageyama grunts between messy kisses. The walk from his kitchen to his bedroom is slow, because Hinata keeps distracting him by sucking on his tongue, and because Hinata is heavy. Kageyama isn’t complaining, not with Hinata’s thick thighs clamped around his hips and his teeth grazing his jaw, but he has the passing thought that he might have to step up his weight training if he wants to do this often.
“‘S so hot,” Hinata mumbles into his throat. “Told me you’d fuck me like this too—”
Kageyama swears darkly. “Next time,” he says, dropping Hinata on his bed a little harder than necessary, laughing when he squawks indignantly, bouncing a few times on the mattress in a blur of flailing limbs.
“So what are you—mmf!”
Kageyama can’t stop kissing him. He pulls away long enough to tell Hinata to shut up, then he loses himself in the wet heat of Hinata’s mouth. It’s perfect against his, intoxicating. Like the first taste of a drug he'll never be able to quit. Kageyama could kiss Hinata for hours, days even, and it still wouldn’t be enough to sate the ravenous need inside him.
Kageyama has thought about this so many times. He’s pictured what it might be like to finally have Hinata in his bed, spread out beneath him like an offering. But none of his wildest daydreams could compare to the reality of it.
He couldn’t have imagined the way Hinata would sound as Kageyama leaves hickeys all over the golden skin of his throat, or the sting of Hinata’s nails over his back. He couldn’t have imagined the sensation of Hinata’s bare skin against his, the way the hair on his legs tickles Kageyama’s hips and the plush swell of his chest in Kageyama’s hand.
The first grind of Hinata’s hard length against his own has Kageyama seeing stars and swearing low. He feels the drag of sensitive skin all over his body somehow, clinging to the scraps of self-control he has left with a white knuckled grip.
Kageyama had plans, dammit. He always thought he would make it perfect; that he would take Hinata apart piece by piece, carve out a place inside Hinata’s body for his own to occupy. He thought he would be in control enough to feel every ripple of Hinata’s pleasure around him before succumbing to his own.
But at this rate, Kageyama isn’t sure he’ll last another thirty seconds. Hinata lets out little pleasured sounds on every breath, and he writes and shifts and rolls his body against Kageyama's with a dizzying combination of desperation and grace. His fingers are tweaking Kageyama’s nipples and his hips are undulating beneath him and his fucking mouth never stops. When he’s not kissing Kageyama or biting into his tender flesh hard enough to leave a mark, he’s talking.
Messages on a screen and Hinata’s voice through a tinny speaker can’t compare to his hot breath skittering over Kageyama’s skin as he moans. The room fills with his voice, sounds bleeding together until it’s just a swirl of oh, fuck and yes, right there and most overwhelming of all, Tobio.
The first time Kageyama whispers his name in return, he feels Hinata shiver under him, feels the way his cock twitches and drips; he can’t stop saying it again and again until it feels like the only word he knows. Hinata curls a hand around both of them and strokes once, drawing a shockingly loud cry from Kageyama. He’s not sure he’s ever made that sound before, but he doesn’t have time to feel self-conscious about it as Hinata jerks them off with a slow, indulgent pace.
The glide is slick with the way both of them are leaking, the sound of it loud in Kageyama’s ears. He feels like he might fracture apart so hard nobody would ever find all the tiny pieces of him. He kisses Hinata desperately, all clacking teeth and messiness, and feels the pleasure uncoiling in his gut. It’s so much, so fast.
Kageyama’s hand finds Hinata’s chest again, thumbing over his nipple and drinking down the keening sounds Hinata makes. He really is sensitive here, muscles tight and shaking as Kageyama moves faster and faster. He wants to see Hinata come—needs to see it— and he chases it with a singleminded focus he usually only applies to volleyball.
Hinata gasps and whines, his strokes losing their smooth rhythm. He says please, Tobio, please, and Kageyama doesn’t know what he’s begging for, but he knows he wants to give it to him. He breathes in the air from Hinata’s mouth and grinds their hips together, fucking into the circle of Hinata’s fingers.
He strains to keep his eyes open even as the edges of his vision go dark and fuzzy, watching the pleasure crest on Hinata’s face. His lips are the perfect shade of kiss-bitten red, shiny and parted, and his cheeks are pink, his freckles are even flushed darker along the bridge of his nose; Hinata's eyes fly open and find Kageyama’s above him. Kageyama watches as Hinata breaks, feels him pulse as he spills over his stomach and fingers. He devours the sight of Hinata’s face as he comes, the shameless pleasure he doesn’t try to hide.
He’s perfect. Beautiful.
Hinata’s trembling muscles go lax, legs falling heavily back to the mattress, but his hand keeps moving, stroking faster and faster as his release slicks the way, hot and wet and dripping. Fingers are in Kageyama’s hair, fisting in the strands and pulling, then the pleasure is exploding through his body and his vision goes white. It pulses through him, syrupy and thick, and he can hear Hinata's voice coaxing him through it.
Kageyama dimly feels the mess between their bodies as his muscles give out and he collapses against Hinata and immediately decides he does not care how gross it is. He’s never gonna move again.
He feels Hinata’s lips against his cheek as he floats back to reality, and the gentle brush of fingers through his hair, down his neck. When Kageyama tries to shift away into a more comfortable position, Hinata’s hands clutch at him reflexively and hold him tight. He huffs a laugh into Hinata’s throat, then kisses him there. Just because he can.
“I’m not going anywhere, dummy,” he says, shifting again. He wipes haphazardly at their bodies with the first thing he can find—one of their shirts—and tosses it aside.
Lying on his side, Kageyama can pull Hinata’s body against his and run his fingers up and down his back, mapping out the new, bulkier shape of him. He drifts off to sleep just like that, with his arms curled around the boy he loves.
- ☼ -
"So just to be clear," Kageyama says, frowning in thought. He and Hinata dozed for a little while before their growling stomachs brought them back to the kitchen. He has veggies steaming and strips of beef sizzling in a pan on the stove when the thought strikes, and he has to ask. "When I said… what I said. Before—"
"That you looove me?"
Kageyama glares at Hinata and his goofy smile, but there's no bite to it. They both know it, but Hinata lets him pretend to be grumpy. "Yes. That. Earlier you said you werent—"
Hinata’s peal of laughter is like music.
“Uncomfortable? No, of course not. It’s actually why—well, to tell you the truth I wasn’t scheduled to come back for another two months, but Kuroo-san helped me set up some early tryouts for early last week, and—”
“Why?”
“Is it not obvious?”
Hinata closes the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Kageyama's waist. He's wearing one of Kageyama's shirts and a pair of boxers, and the sight alone makes Kageyama want to peel them off and kiss him all over.
Hinata shakes his head, the same soft smile on his lips that's been there since the moment he woke up. The one that is only for Kageyama, that has always been only for Kageyama, and somehow it's even prettier in real life than it was on his phone screen.
“Kageyama. Silly, Sillyama. For someone who calls me dumbass more often than my actual name, I thought you’d be a little smarter here."
“Just tell me, you little—”
“Okay! Okay,” Hinata says in a breathless, laughing voice. He has to stand on his toes to nuzzle his nose against Kageyama’s. “I love you too, if that's not painfully obvious by now. When you said it that night, I knew I couldn’t wait anymore. I needed to come home.”
“To Japan?”
“To you."
Kageyama kisses him, slow and sweet, reaching down blindly to turn off the burner. He'd rather not set his apartment on fire, and he wants to take his time with this. Because he has Hinata now; in his apartment, in his arms, and pretty soon, in his bed. Again.
It's Kageyama's turn to squeak when Hinata grabs his thighs and hoists him up into his arms. He's shameless, grabbing at Kageyama's ass with both hands and squeezing greedily.
"Told you I could pick you up, too," Hinata gloats into their next kiss. "Bet I can carry you longer than you can carry me."
"Could not," Kageyama shoots back. He won't admit it—not now at least—but being carried by Hinata feels really good. He channels that feeling into the kisses he leaves along the column of Hinata's throat.
"Could too. Wanna—ngh—test that theory?"
"Later," Kageyama says, smiling helplessly. He shouldn't be surprised that they managed to turn this, of all things, into a competition in less than a day. It feels right, the way arguing with Hinata always feels right.
He plans to win this one. And the next one.
Kageyama buries both hands on Hinata's hair, the curls like silk against his skin, and whispers, "Take me to bed, Shoyo."
"You got it," Hinata grins, fierce and beautiful. "Bossyama."